


Freya's HP One-Shots

by Freya_Ishtar



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: AU, EWE, F/F, F/M, Gen, One Shot Collection, One-Shots, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-13
Updated: 2019-01-03
Packaged: 2019-03-30 16:41:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 24,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13955721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Freya_Ishtar/pseuds/Freya_Ishtar
Summary: As stated in the summary, a collection of my Harry Potter One-Shots (mostly Hermione-centric). Titles included: A Night Unfettered; And then Came Halloween (A Yes, Professor One-Shot); Blood of My Blood (A Halloween One-Shot); Glimpsing Dragons; Hermione Granger and the Biscuit Thief: A Christmas Story (A Yes, Professor X-Mas One-Shot); Sweeter Than This; The Pygmy Puff Incident; Winter Wolves (A Werewolf Rebellion One-Shot); Hermione Granger and the Big, Bloody Lynx*individual summaries in chapters





	1. A Night Unfettered

**Author's Note:**

> Overall Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, or any affiliated characters & make no profit in any form from these works.
> 
> A silly dare sends Hermione alone into the Shrieking Shack, and Draco thinks it the perfect time to play a prank on her. How was he to know that an unforeseen hindrance & a little Muggle-liquor could make the night go so wrong?

 

 **A Night Unfettered**  

Hermione could hear the whispers of the other girls gathered behind her. Their low, wispy voices were just audible over the dull, thudding echo of her own footsteps as she approached the recently uncovered tunnel which led into the heart of the Shrieking Shack. They thought her brave face just that—a façade—and, once she was out of sight, she'd break down in hysterical sobs and bang on the door, demanding to be let out, just as they had.

But, she reflected with a smug grin they couldn't see, she knew something about the Shrieking Shack that the girls who'd come up with this silly dare didn't.

And  _that_ was that the activity in the Shrieking Shack was harmless. But then, she was the only one of them to actually have set foot in the place before the dare had started, and she was well prepared for any banging shutter, groaning floorboard, or rattling doorknob the broken down hovel could dish out. Save for a few hours of glorified creaky-old-house noises, this was going to be the most peaceful night she'd had since their post-war term had started.

Wiping the mirthful expression from her face, she clutched at her duffel and sleeping bag as she turned her head to give the other girls one final look over her shoulder.

Behind Romilda and Pansy, the Patil twins exchanged a nervous glance. "Maybe this is a bad idea," Parvati said quietly, "What if she gets hurt?"

Pansy rolled her eyes. "Please. Look it's just a good scare, right?  _I_  did it, and Romilda went through it and came out fine, didn't you, Romilda?"

Romilda gave a wan, half-hearted smile as she plucked a long, silver lock from amidst her dark curls. "Yeah, fine. Just . . . keep your wits about, Hermione."

Hermione hid a doubtful frown. If only the other girl had realized the thin, winding ribbon of gray was more a testament to her own imagination running wild than to anything  _scary_ residing within the walls of the Shack . . . .

But Hermione wasn't going to tell her that. Wizards and witches tended to poo-poo psychology, and there was no point in embarrassing Romilda. Poor thing was still catching flack for that backfiring love potion, and only participated in things like this to distract herself from Lavender's absence in her life.

"Look, if anything  _actually_ dangerous happens, the charms will break," Pansy reminded, taking few steps forward to give Hermione a none-too-gentle shove further down the tunnel. "Go on! We'll see you in the morning. Or . . ." she paused, looking uncertain for a split-second, "sooner, should disaster strike."

"Comforting," Hermione grumbled, making another showy grab at her things before giving the girls a nod. "Well, night, then."

The Patils and Romilda gave her encouraging nods, while Pansy rolled her eyes and made a shooing gesture.

Facing forward, Hermione gave a nod of her own and continued, alone, down the dim, winding earthen corridor.

* * *

Draco's face twisted in a cold, calculating scowl as he watched Granger disappear down the tunnel, watched the other girls finally turn and walk away. This was it, his chance, finally, to get that filthy little mudblood back for all the times she'd embarrassed him.

He couldn't hear what they'd said, they were all speaking too low, but he'd overheard them earlier during dinner in the main hall discussing this idiotic dare. Heard it, and recognized what a priceless opportunity it would be—Granger was never out of the company of Scarhead and Weaslebee. Finally she was on her own,  _finally_  he would have the upper hand. True, they'd be the only ones who knew, but that would be enough; to know that every time she looked at him, she'd remember that he'd gotten one over on her.

He crept down the tunnel after her, footfalls soft, just far enough behind that she wouldn't spot him, should she glance back. Sneak in after her, wait for the perfect moment to scare her witless, let her see that it was  _he_ who'd just shown her to be the frightened, gibbering mess she ought to be more often in the presence of her betters, and then leave. So simple, really.

She slipped through a trap door, and—to his surprise—the door began sliding shut behind her, without aid from her. He dashed the remainder of the way and caught the door, just before it could seal shut. Pressing his ear to the meager opening, he waited for her steps to soften, gradually vanishing into the depths of the house.

A haughty grin curving his lips, Draco pushed open the trapdoor and entered the Shack. He trailed after Granger, ducking behind a thick, dusty curtain in the depressing little hovel's master bedroom as she busied herself with lighting the thick, never-melting candles the dare's previous participants had placed.

All he had to do now was wait.

* * *

Sighing happily, Hermione rolled out her sleeping bag on the floor beside the bed, settled down and unzipped her duffel. There, the only companions she needed to get her through a long, lonely night—a good book, a soft pillow and a nice, big bottle of her very  _special_ butterbeer.

She uncapped it and inhaled deeply. The smell of butterscotch masked the scent of the rum from her parent's cabinet she  _might_ have sneaked into a couple of bottles.

Smiling, she swirled the contents before taking a sip. She'd mixed it so well, she wouldn't be surprised if Madame Rosemerta, herself, begged to know her secret.

It had started out as an experiment, something to still her ever-running mind so she could get a good night's rest during exams. That had worked out quite well. But, passing hours alone with nothing but her imagination as company seemed just as good a reason to get tipsy as any.

She settled back against the side of the dusty old bed and stretched her legs out before her, crossing them at the ankles and opened her book in her lap.

* * *

The room became very quiet, very fast, punctuated infrequently by the bangs and groans from the rest of the uppity house. There'd been shuffling and zipping and page-turning—all surprisingly loud during the inactive moments. She didn't make a peep thereafter, and Draco wondered about that. Certainly, he'd put together that it had been Potter in that stupid invisibility cloak messing with him that time outside of here few years ago, and the place barely made a peep when Voldemort and his followers had been here. Therefore, he'd talked himself out of the idea of the Shack's haunting being dangerous.

But that didn't mean it wasn't, and weren't girls  _supposed_ to be afraid of these things?

Why wasn't she muttering self-soothing statements, or anything of that sort? She wasn't exploring, she was just . . . oh, bloody hell, what  _was_ she doing out there?

Peeking out from behind the curtain, he saw her lounging, reading a book and sipping butterbeer from the bottle. This was hardly the image he'd expected.

Frowning darkly at his suddenly,  _visibly_ , flawed plan, he pulled back again . . . accidentally knocking the wall with the heel of his shoe. He bit hard into his bottom lip, a pained expression flitting across his face as he held his breath, hoping she ascribed the noise to the Shack's nonsense.

* * *

Hermione whipped her head around, searching out the sound; it didn't match any of the other activity she'd heard in the house. Nothing seemed out of place, and yet, as her gaze skirted the floor, she noticed . . . . Chestnut eyes narrowing, she noiselessly set aside her book and slid her wand from her duffel.

Climbing to her feet, she inched toward the curtain. Fixing a cold, menacing grimace on her face, she raised her wand. It would be just like a Slytherin to have someone sneak in and try to scare her. Pansy probably thought consigning one of her friends to be trapped in the Shrieking Shack for the night was a small price to pay for pulling off such a prank when the target was considered the brightest witch of their age.

Reaching out, she carefully curled her fingers into the edge of the thick fabric and took a breath. She counted to three in her head and then yanked the curtain aside.

"Malfoy," her voice cracked in disbelief as she lowered her wand, despite the sore temptation to transfigure him into a rat. Not like he didn't deserve it. "What is  _wrong_ with you?"

Barely missing a beat—he might be a spoiled, cowardly prat, but he was quick on the uptake, she'd give him that—he scowled, arching a brow at her. "Me? What is wrong with you? You're in a haunted house and hear a noise and you _attack_ it with your wand?"

She pointed at his feet, "Maybe I'd blame the haunted house for the noise if I believed curtains wear  _shoes_."

He rolled his eyes, groaning at his oversight. "Oh, well, plan failed. I'll just be going then."

"Hang on," she called as he darted out the door.

"No time to chat, really. Have a pleasant evening doing . . . whatever it is mudbloods do," he said over his shoulder as he headed back to the cellar.

Biting back a scathing retort, she stomped down the stairs after him. "What are you doing here?"

"Isn't it obvious? I was  _going_ to scare you, but since you happen to have less sense than a toadstool, I can see why it was foolish of me to try."

"Please, you clearly realized the place isn't actually dangerous, yet you expected  _me_ to be scared?"

He didn't grace her with a response as he continued into the cellar.

"Malfoy, you moron, you  _can't_  leave."

"Oh, what? Because the house is locked with a spell?" He rolled his eyes as he produced his wand. "Have you girls been inhaling cauldron fumes, or something? This should be nothing—especially for you."

"No," she cautioned, wide-eyed, looking from his hand to the trapdoor and back. "You misunderstand, not sure why that should surprise me, you've always been a git.

He was far too irritated with his failed plan, and with her for once more being  _smarter_  than him, to listen to what she was trying to tell him.

"Even you can't be this daft! The door's not barred by a standard spell, it's—"

"Alo—"

"—charmed!"

"—homora!"

A brilliant flash of light sputtered from the lock, followed by a sharp cracking sound and Draco was knocked back, colliding with Hermione before they both crashed into the wall and fell.

He gave his head a shake, attempting to regain his bearings as he stared daggers at the trapdoor. All right, so perhaps he  _should_  have listened to what she'd been trying to tell him.

"I  _said_ it was charmed," she reminded in an angry whisper. "Any  _eighth_  year is far too advanced a witch or wizard to be stopped by regular spell. All possible exits have been locked with charms _—layered_  charms—so whoever's taking the dare can't pull a fast one by sneaking out and then back in after the night's passed.  _Everything's_  sealed until sunrise, unless there's danger."

"We just got blown across the room, that's not dangerous?"

"Not when the cause is sheer stupidity, now get  _off_ me!"

Brow furrowing, Draco looked over his shoulder, only now realizing the impact—and fall—had wedged Hermione between his body and the wall. "Oh."

" _Oh_ , he says," she grumbled as she watched him stand and dust himself off.

Of course he made no move to help her up, she noticed, rolling her eyes as she stood, as well, and gave herself a once-over for any injuries.

"I tried to warn you, but would you listen? No, no! And why? 'Cause I'm  _just_ a mudblood, right?"

"Glad we're on the same page about that," he said with that smug grin he usually reserved for his rows with Harry.

She mirrored his expression, crossing her arms beneath her breasts as she waited for the reality of their situation to set in for him. "At least this mudblood knows why the doors and windows being sealed is  _suddenly_ such a horrible thing!"

His face fell, and if she didn't know any better, she'd swear he was contemplating slapping himself on the forehead. "I'm stuck here, with  _you_ , until sunrise. That's just . . . perfect."

"Well, there's plenty of rooms, take your pick. I'm going back to my book."

Scowling, he only watched her as she turned and stalked from the cellar. Mouth pulling to one side in an angry half-frown, he trailed after her.

"What are you doing?" She asked, her tone exhausted as she climbed the stairs.

"Following you, obviously."

Hermione shook her head at him.

"I've got nothing better to do for the next  _several_  hours, have I?"

"Whatever, I'm going to ignore you."

"I was hoping for that, actually."

An hour later, they'd both managed to tune out the occasional sounds of the Shack. Hermione was well into her book, and Draco was pacing about the room.  _Again._ He seemed to do this every few minutes, and it was beginning to wear on her nerves.

"Will you stop that?"

"Oh? I thought you said you were going to ignore me."

Looking up from her book to find him glaring at her, she said, "Turns out, ignoring you is about as easy as ignoring a tooth ache. Here," she held the bottle out to him. Maybe if he mellowed a bit, his very presence wouldn't be digging under her skin.

He only raised his eyebrows at the gesture.

"Trust me," she said, waving the bottle closer to his hand. "It's not  _just_  butterbeer," she finally admitted.

Grey eyes narrowing, he took the bottle, asking before bringing it to his lips. "What, exactly, did you to do this?"

She shrugged, waiting until he sipped. "Spiked it with muggle liquor."

He cringed, looking as though he wished he could vomit it up.

Hermione only grinned, enjoying how much he'd probably just  _liked_  partaking of something muggle-related.

"Oh, get off your high horse, Malfoy," she muttered, snatching the bottle back and taking a long swig. "It's not like I'm going to tell anyone you just did that. As far as  _I'm_  concerned, you're not even here."

Draco took a long time rolling that around in his head. There was nothing to do . . . there were still hours until they could leave. There  _was_ alcohol. Even if it was muggle-brew, it would take the edge off a night of boredom locked in with Granger.

"Fine," he said with a groan, sitting cross-legged on the floor and taking the bottle back for another swig.

After several passes, he wasn't entirely certain any time had ticked by at all, until he lifted the bottle to his lips and a single drop trickled out.

He furrowed his brow as he set the bottle down beside her duffel. "You finished it."

"It was mine to finish," she pointed out, trying to focus on the printed words before her. They kept dribbling off the page. This was probably why she only ever snuck a few sips of her butterbeer-rum before bed. And her teeth felt funny.

She looked up to find Draco Malfoy tapping the tip of his wand against his nose . . . or at least,  _trying_ to, and missing.

Hermione clapped a hand over her mouth, but the giggle spilled out, regardless.

"Muggle liquor," he whispered in disdain.

Frowning thoughtfully—which made her aware of a fuzzy tingling in her lips—she set aside her book and let her head tip back against the bed. "Why  _did_  you come here?"

"To scare you, I told you," he said, putting his wand on the floor and propping his elbows on his knees to drop his chin into his palms. "No, wait . . . yeah, I did say that. Wait, didn't I?"

"You did."

He frowned, what wasn't clear about that? "So you already know."

"I mean,  _why_  did you want to scare me?"

"Oh! Well, that's a different question, now isn't it," he mused, his expression distant.

She didn't understand how he'd gotten confused. "I suppose it is. You really get thick when you drink, you know that?"

"Oh, like you could pass your OWLS right now?"

Hermione cracked a grin in spite of herself as she lifted her head. "I suppose not. You still haven't answered the question."

He met her gaze with a mystified look. "I wanted to finally have something over on you, Granger."

"Me?" Her brow furrowed and she thought perhaps she'd lost the ability to understand plain English. "I always thought Harry was the one you wasted your energy on."

"No, well, sure . . . chosen one, and all, but no. Before Voldemort returned—you know, when everything was just normal—my father was on my case, all the time, because I couldn't get better grades than you."

"Better grades than some filthly little mudblood, you mean?"

"Drilled it into my head since the end of first year." He nodded, shrugging.

"I had no idea," she said quietly.

"How could you have?" He shook his head as he glared at her, though the haze in his eyes made the expression hilariously ineffectual. "Its not like it was something I advertised."

"No, but you'd take it out on  _me_  that your  _father_  was being hard on you."

"Couldn't take it out on him, now could I?"

"Of course not, that would require showing some backbone and standing up to him."

He pursed his lips, puzzling over how he was so much more aware of the feeling in his face right now than he usually was, as he nodded. "That's fair. Bravery's never been my strong suit," he said, oddly curious as to how she saw him after everything that happened during the war.

Hermione stared at him for a long moment before speaking aloud the observation running through her head. "You're much more agreeable when alcohol is involved."

"Well, you're not such an insufferable know-it-all when alcohol is involved, so I guess that makes us even."

"Funny."

He offered a lopsided grin.

"I guess there could be worse things than being stuck here with you, then." She interrupted herself to let out an embarrassed giggle. "God, tell me I didn't just admit that!"

Draco's drunken, lopsided grin became smug and he nodded, winking at her. "I grow on people."

Hermione tipped her head to one side as she wondered if he realized the look he'd just given her. "Are . . . are you flirting with me?"

He shrugged, glancing out the window to see—much to his dismay—that it was still dark outside, and tried for a change of subject. "Hell, since we've been drinking muggle-stuff, what  _do_ muggles do to pass time?"

She wasn't sure if she was relieved or irritated that he didn't answer, but she wasn't going to press the matter. "You mean when they're pissed and there's nothing for entertainment?"

"Exactly."

"They play games. Truth or Dare, spin the bottle. Though, that one is stupid, since it's just the two of us."

Had she the presence of mind she normally possessed, Hermione wouldn't have answered the question. Because her answer led, naturally, to another question. And it was something she wasn't sure she was comfortable explaining to _him_ , of all people.

"Truth or Dare sounds fairly self-explanatory. What's 'spin the bottle?'"

Shrugging, she sat forward and grabbed the bottle, setting it on its side to display the staggeringly basic dynamics of the game. "A group sits in a circle, presumably after draining said bottle, and you spin it," she gave it a turn, speaking above the sound of glass rolling against wood, "whoever it lands on . . . you have to kiss them."

"I see," he said, watching, with raised eyebrows, as the bottle came to a stop, pointing at him.

Hermione waved dismissively with an awkward clearing of her throat—probably just the Shack playing a trick on them. "Like I said, though, you can't play with just two people," she snatched up the bottle and tossed it carelessly into her duffel . . . where it clinked against another bit of glass.

He glanced from her to the bag, his eyes narrowed. "Is that a second bottle?"

"Maybe," she whispered, her gaze roving the ceiling. "The small one. I must've forgot to take it out when I was unpacking. Damn."

"Give it here," he said, reaching for it without waiting for her response.

"Malfoy, no!" She grabbed for the bottle as he pulled it free of the bag.

Her hands resting over his, he pulled, unexpectedly forcing her forward, dragging her closer to him. He tugged again, chuckling as it pulled her into his lap.

She couldn't help breaking into a giggle to find herself face-to-face with an inebriated Draco Malfoy. "I'd say you've had quite enough," she quipped, smiling.

There was something about how close she was, something about how her breath tickled his lips as she laughed.

His face fell, his gaze on her mouth. "You're really  _not_  so insufferable when alcohol is involved."

Hermione slid her hand from his as she felt her cheeks warm, her own smile faltering. Oh, she could  _not_ be blushing because of Malfoy! And yet she was . . . and she was still in his lap, but she didn't seem to want to move.

He set the new bottle on its side next to her and gave it a spin. After a moment, he tapped a finger against it, stopping it so that it pointed to her.

"I believe the rules say I'm supposed to kiss you."

He looked so serious it tore the breath from her as she scrambled to find a response. "You, um, you technically cheated a—and . . . that bottle's full, you're supposed to play with an empty one. And I told you, you  _can't_  play with just two people."

"Oh? Is there some Drinking Game Ministry that's going to come arrest me?"

"No, of course not, don't be sil—"

Her words were cut short by his mouth covering hers. She was shocked by how soft and warm his lips felt.

Pulling away, she shook her head at him. "What are you doing?"

He gave a lazy smile. "Nothing, I'm not even  _here_ tonight, remember?"

Hermione bit her lip as his words sank in. No one knew he was here, they had hours until they could get out . . . . "You have a point."

Draco leaned close so that his mouth brushed hers as he spoke. "I know."

"We can go back to hating each other in the morning."

"I wasn't aware we had to stop," he said, gently catching her bottom lip between his teeth for a brief moment and then letting it slip free.

She reminded herself to breathe. "I suppose we can always just . . . blame it on the alcohol."

"Sounds right to me."

He parted her lips with his tongue as his hands slid down the length of her body, pulling her against him.

Shifting to straddle his lap, Hermione caught the tip of his tongue between her own tongue and her upper teeth, sucking gently on it and making him groan deep in the back of his throat. She rolled her hips, fitting herself over him through their clothing.

Breaking the kiss, he yanked his shirt up over his head. She reached for the hem of her own, but Draco beat her to it, making her giggle when he slapped away her hands.

Pulling off her shirt, he tossed it on her duffel. His gaze swept down, giving the tiniest hint of a grin at the lacy pink bra that was revealed.

"Never would have guessed mudbloods could be so modest."

"You have  _got_ to stop using that word."

"Make me." He leaned closer, lips closing around her earlobe. His teeth delicately scraped across sensitive skin again and again as his hands moved to her bra.

The feel of his warm palms sliding over her lace-covered flesh made her arch her back, moaning softly. Almost before she could stop herself, she was rocking her hips, grinding her pelvis down against his. And  _oh_ , she'd made him hard!

Draco let out a sound like a growl, running the tip of his tongue down the side of her throat. He pushed forward, driving up against her in a sharp, jerking rhythm as his teeth grazed her nipples through the flimsy pastel fabric. Very soon she was trembling, her every muscle beginning to tense and her hands balling into fists in his hair.

" _Draco ._. . ." She forced the word out in a breathless whisper, a tell-tale tremor in her voice.

His mouth moved over her skin, working a path back up along the side of her throat so that his lips caressed her ear as he murmured in a low, gravelly tone, "Not an innocent one at all, are you?"

"Nor you," she whispered, rocking harder against him and grinning at how it forced him to draw a sharp breath.

"Relatively sure  _I_ never gave that impression."

"And I do?"

He smiled, sinking his teeth into his bottom lip. "Absolutely."

She nudged his face away and ducked her head, nipping at the vulnerable skin under his jaw. Her fingers trailed down his chest and the—surprisingly—lean muscles of his abdomen to unbuckle his belt.

"Well, then," he joked as she shifted back a bit, allowing herself room to undo the button and zipper of his trousers. "Should I just lay back and let you do all the work?"

Smirking, she ran the tip of her tongue across his lip as she grabbed his hands, leading them around her to the clasp on her bra. "Just like a pureblood, expecting everything handed to you on a silver platter."

"Prefer gold, actually," he quipped, unhooking the garment and pulling it from her. "But this once, I don't mind making an exception."

Feigning a scowl, she scooted out of his lap and stood, kicking off her boots and removing her jeans. Holding his gaze, she hooked her thumbs into the sides of her knickers, knowing this marked some point of no return; curious to see if he would stop her.

She inched the fabric down over her hips slowly, unsure how she felt about the flush in his cheeks as he watched her.

"Wait!" He rose up on his knees, covering her hands with his.

Hermione looked into his eyes, waiting for him to say something—to tell her this was all just a joke that'd gone too far, or call her a filthy mudblood, throw her clothes at her and demand she get dressed—but, for a breathless moment, all he did was stare up at her.

"Let me," he whispered, visibly forcing a small gulp down his throat.

She bit her lip as his suggestion, and the way he was looking at her, sent a sweet ache pulsing through her. Nodding, she withdrew her fingers.

Draco held her gaze as he slid down her knickers and let them drop to the floor around her feet, mindful to quickly snatch up the delicate material and toss it onto her bag. He inched closer, tracing the tip of a finger up the inside of her leg.

She shivered as his hand slipped between her thighs to part already, embarrassingly, moist folds. And he was still watching her, his attention trained on her face, as he stroked over that little, throbbing bundle of nerves.

"Damn, Malfoy," she murmured, rocking against his ministrations.

Cracking a grin, he said, "Back to Malfoy, are we?"

He reached out with his free hand, catching each of hers in turn and guiding them to brace against his shoulders. Sliding his finger back and forth, he worked faster—until she was trembling—gripping his shoulders as she stood on her toes, her entire body going taut.

"I think I like it better," he rubbed harder, relishing the moan that tore from her lips and the way her eyes squeezed shut as her head dropped forward, "when you call me Draco . . . at least when your say it like you did before. _"_

She cried out, leaning into him as the orgasm crashed through her. Delicious ripples made her tremble and moan under his touch.

He rubbed faster still, giving her more and more until she was spent, her breath rushing out in short, hiccuping gasps as her body sagged forward.

She felt  _good_ , and not simply due to how beautifully hard he'd just made her come. No, even in her giddy, drunken, pleasure-dulled mind, she realized it was more than that. It was an odd sense of freedom. Draco Malfoy had no presumption of her as the perfect good girl; in fact, now that she'd shattered his perception of her as an  _innocent,_  insufferable know-it-all, she was certain he had  _no_  expectations of her. He had no notion of how she  _should_  act, or who she was  _supposed_  to be. Free wasn't even the right word, she thought, wanting to ascribe the sensation something with a lofty ring to it . . .  _Unfettered_ , yes, that worked.

Opening her eyes, she saw him grinning up at her and asked, breathless, "What?"

Placing his hands on her hips once more, he led her back to straddling his lap. "Just . . . if I'd known you'd make faces like that, I think I'd have been nicer to you all these years."

Hermione couldn't help giggling as she slid her hand into his trousers and gently grasped his length, pulling him free of his clothes. Deciding to act before either of them could have a last minute change of heart, she positioned herself over him and dropped down, crying out once more as the swift motion forced him to enter her completely.

"Damn, Granger," he said with a groan, speaking through clenched teeth as his arms wound around her.

Arching her back, she planted her palms on his thighs, using the leverage to rock her pelvis against him. The grinding motions forced him deeper with each stroke. She let her head fall back, sinking her teeth into her bottom lip to stifle a sound of ecstasy.

He used his arms around her to aid her, pulling her more tightly to him as he dipped his head, grazing his teeth and tongue along the line of her throat.

She lifted one hand from his leg, slipping it around the back of his neck to curl her fingers into his hair. "And here," she paused, moaning as he jerked his hips against her grinding motions, thrusting into her more sharply, still. "I . . . I thought I'd get to hear you call me Hermione."

He chuckled, a fine tremor running through his muscles. "Well, unlike  _my_ first name, yours is more of a mouthful to utter in a fit of passion than your last name. But, if you insist," he ran the tip of his tongue along the pulse in the side of her throat to whisper in her ear, " _Hermione._ "

Oh,  _God_ , her name sounded so good when he said it like that! His voice in her ear, his breath on her throat, his arms pulling her deliciously hard against him as he plunged inside her all added together and she found her body going taut over him. He was about to make her come for the second time, and he'd only get to once . . . . And she didn't feel the tiniest bit guilty for that as she forced her muscles to tense as much as she could, trying to help the orgasm along.

"Hermione," he repeated, clenching his teeth as he took over, entirely. sinking into her with hard, jerking thrusts.

She couldn't reply in kind just now, crying out wordlessly as he moved beneath her, forcing shock after shock of pleasure through her.

When it ebbed, she started grinding against him again, a pleading whimper working its way out of her throat as she whispered, "Draco."

"Now, that's better," he said, his voice low and breathy as his strokes became unsteady and frantic. "My turn."

Nodding, she once more braced both palms against his thighs, rocking her hips harder. He trembled and shuddered beneath her as he came. She aided him in it, moving until he gave one last, sharp thrust and then she slowed her motions gradually, stopping only when she was certain he was spent.

He dropped his head down against her shoulder, breathing heavily as she draped her arms loosely around his neck. For a long moment they simply listened to each other inhaling and exhaling . . . the creaking and groaning of the Shack reminding them of where they were—though neither of them could really say they were bothered by their location.

Holding him against her, he scooted to sit on the open sleeping bag and laid back.

"Going to sleep now, are we?" She asked with a smile as he pulled the top flap over them.

"If we can. I mean, does seem like a logical way to end the evening."

"I am still naked, you realize."

He cracked his usual smirk as his eyes drifted closed. "Yeah, well, if you hadn't noticed, you left my cock out, so we're sort of even."

"You say so," she murmured with a giggle—a crass pureblood, the horror of it—ignoring that this was Draco Malfoy she felt so comfortable using as a body-pillow.

Much to the surprise of both of them, by the time they thought they'd have drifted off, the room became filled with hushed conversation. Unimportant, light, no meaning to anything they were talking about, really, yet somehow that made it all the more significant.

There was no point to this night at all, Hermione realized. Tomorrow morning, she'd leave this rundown little hovel and it would be like this never happened.

Oddly, that seemed to only add to how perfect it felt.

* * *

"You weren't scared at all?" Pansy demanded, her face twisted in irritated disbelief.

Hermione shrugged, mindfully keeping her thoughts from wandering so she wouldn't blush. She'd slipped out of the Shack as soon as the sun was up, knowing the girls would be waiting for her, and she and Draco could hardly be seen leaving together.

But it wasn't until they were settled eating breakfast in the Great Hall that they'd began riddling her with questions.

"I was at first," she lied smoothly, a little thrill of pleasure rippling through her as she spotted a suddenly delightfully familiar pale-gold head pass by them.

"So," Padma asked, her voice an excited tumble of words, "was it at least fun then?"

"Oh, well, you could say that," Hermione watched Draco sit down and, from the corner of her eye she could see his expression in profile. She could tell he was listening, even more so, she could tell that he  _knew_  she was looking at him. "In fact, I wouldn't mind the chance to do it again, sometime."

That haughty, mischievous smirk curved his lips, and Draco Malfoy gave a nod so quick, so subtle, that only Hermione Granger saw it.


	2. And Then Came Halloween: A Holiday-Themed One-Shot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *'Yes, Professor'-adjacent* The first Halloween at Hogwarts after Voldemort's demise finds Orias' sweet tooth causing trouble for Hermione in the pantry of the castle's kitchens, once more. *Inspired by Kittenshift17's Halloween Death Eater prompts*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * Orias Mulciber (who appears in a number of my other DE fics) is my take on the canon character of Mulciber.
> 
> FANCAST:  
> Brock O'Hurn as *Orias Mulciber

 

  **AND THEN CAME HALLOWEEN**

**(A Holiday-Themed One-Shot)**

Minerva McGonagall pinched the bridge of her nose, her eyelids drifting closed as she sighed. Opening them, she clasped her hands before her and fixed her gaze on the pair facing her desk.

Miss Granger gaped at her, the picture of innocence. The young woman's hands folded in her lap, she seemed afraid to so much as breathe until the elder witch spoke, first. Though, she'd decided to stay on as librarian now that the school—and indeed, Wizarding Britain, itself—was in rightful hands, once more, Minerva still saw her student, the tiny wild-haired bookworm.

Mr. Mulciber, on the other hand . . . .

The mountain of a wizard managed to look only larger folded into the chair facing the headmistress' desk, not to mention how he dwarfed his—oh, dear, sweet Merlin, the older woman could barely think the words—his  _fiancée,_ seated so demurely beside him. He also managed to exude a completely irreverent air, that Minerva was starting to remember quite well, and not at  _all_ fondly, from his own time as a student. The reformed Death Eater serving out his probation as the new DADA teacher had actually been doing surprisingly well in his new profession.

Until  _now_.

Now, as the couple waited on pins and needles for the headmistress to speak.

Now, as they stared back at her, their skin dashed with multi-hued, sparkling soot from spell back-fires, and their hair—dear God, their hair—stuck out in all different directions, half-melted sweets mixed with their frazzled locks.

"All right," Minerva said, pausing a moment to clear her throat. "Which one of you wants to explain to me  _precisely_  what happened?"

Mulciber opened his mouth to respond, something Miss Granger caught out of the corner of her eye, and she immediately piped up.

"Well, you see, Professor, you know how I'd offered to assist the kitchen staff in preparing the foods for tonight's Halloween feast?"

The elder witch nodded, propping an elbow atop her desk and dropping her chin against her palm. "Go on."

Exchanging a glance, the couple traded some look Minerva couldn't quite read before the young woman went on.

Miss Granger sighed, her petite shoulders drooping as she shook her head. "I was preparing a cake for decoration, when . . . ."

* * *

Hermione set out the jars of assorted sweets at perfectly—spaced intervals. The arrangement was intended to make the process of decorating the cakes more precise and less time consuming.

Ticking off with her finger what was where, she nodded to herself and then turned back toward the  _fantastic_ chocolate cake one of the elves had just brought to her. The beautifully decadent creation had cooled enough to start trimming, and now . . . .

That fantastic and decadent chocolate cake was missing. Vanished from right behind her.

Frowning, she looked about. Perhaps one of the elves had taken it back for some reason?

She wiped her hands off on her apron as she called out to them, "Excuse me? Did anyone move the cake that was just here?"

The kitchen staff looked up at her answer—they were normally so nice and open with her—only to have their enormous eyes go wider, still. They all shook their heads in silence and returned their attention to their current tasks.

She arched a curious brow at the creatures' collective reticence. They were never so quiet—not since Voldemort's fall, anyway. In their own element like this, they were usually  _quite_ chatty.

"So," she started, folding her arms under her breasts. "No one knows what happened to it, then?"

Again, her question was answered with silence. Although, she did notice one of the elves glance—for the barest, most fleeting second—toward one of the pantry cupboards.

Dropping her arms to her sides, Hermione sighed.  _Bloody hell. Not_ this _, again._

The witch scowled. Pushing up her sleeves, she stormed—on quiet footfalls, so as to not alert him—over to the indicated cupboard. Slipping her fingers around the handles of the tall, slender double doors. With another sigh, long and suffering, she wrenched open the cupboard.

Orias froze. His jaw open, he was just about to take his first bite. Darting his blue-eyed gaze over to meet that of the fuming witch, he offered her a charming grin.

"Orias Mulciber!"

Oh, he was going to find out which of the elves had ratted him out. "Little witch. I was only . . . ." He glanced at the massive cake in his hands, though  _in_ his hands it didn't look quite as large as it actually was.

"I was counting out sweets when all of the sudden, I turn around to find the cake they were meant trim gone. And what do you think I should find?"

"Well, I—"

"The wizard I intend to marry stealing a cake meant for children. Honestly! And in the same cupboard where the biscuit incident happened? You really need to find a new hiding place when you sneak baked goods, you . . . giant."

"Well, this one's simply no good." Nodding, he turned to face her, fully, as though he didn't have a triple layer chocolate cake in his hands. "See, I'm sparing the children, really."

Her brows shot up. "I told you I'd make you one of your own if you  _only_ left the treats alone."

He huffed and squared his shoulders, looking indignant. "So just make the students another and _this_  one will be mine."

Hermione propped her fists on her hips and shook her head. "Oh, you must be joking. I was going to make you a human-sized one. That one there is large enough to stuff every first year for a solid week."

"I'm sorry, has my large stature suddenly slipped your notice? Human-sized, she says, really, now."

She bit her lip, holding in a laugh at his affronted tone. "No. You're not having that cake."

Orias tipped his chin back in defiance as he arched a brow. "Oh, really?"

Gritting her teeth, she said, "I just told you  _no_ , Orias!"

That brow still lifted, he held her gaze as he raised the cake toward his lips.

In a blink she'd drawn her wand, lifting the batch of decadent chocolate straight from his hands. It happened so fast that by the time he reacted, she had the cake half-way back to its rightful place.

Frowning at her retreating back as she followed the cake while guiding it across the room, he drew his own wand.

Hermione let out a surprised squeak at the mild stinging hex that bit her right on the bum. Her concentration broken, she lost hold of the cake.

With a triumphant grin, Orias managed to redirect his wand to capture it before it hit the floor. He nearly didn't have it in him to chuckle at noticing her rubbing a hand over her lightly-wounded bottom from the corner of his eye.

She was vaguely aware of the kitchen staff ducking for cover as she spun on her heel and tried to pull the cake back the right way. In a physical tug-of-war, she'd obviously never stand a chance against him, but this was _magic_ , and in this, she could _so_  handle him.

"Just let go, already," she said with a shake of her head.

"You let go, little witch."

"Orias, you're being ridiculous! I already said I'd make you another one."

Smirking, he raised brow. "I want  _this_ one."

"We can't always get what we want, my love."

He laughed, narrowing his eyes at her. "How funny you should say that, because I _always_  do."

Hermione heard it, the sudden inhale not far from her. She knew she only heard it because she stood closer to the elves than he did. And so the elf's overly-loud sneeze didn't catch her off-guard.

But the unexpected noise interrupted Orias' concentration, causing him to lose his hold on the cake.

Unprepared for the immediate lack of tension, the cake snapped out of Hermione's hold, as well, instead flying back toward her.

The witch ducked just in time to miss catching a face full of chocolate, but the jars . . . . All her pretty, perfectly placed jars of sweets—the ones she was going to use the leftovers from to make Trick-or-Treat bags for the first and second years . . . .

That beautiful chocolate creation, all three enormous layers of it crashed into the table where her jars were organized. In the chaos of shattering glass and flying sweets, the elves jumped to defend the witch and wizard.

The little creatures tossed out wordless charms, separating the harmful shards of glass from the chunks and bits of colorful, flavored sugar.

Hermione shrieked, as in the middle of the commotion, another mild stinging spell bit her on the bum. Furious, she spun on her heel to face the wizard.

"What the bloody hell was  _that_  for?"

Oh, the look on Orias Mulciber's handsome face . . . . Hermione actually thought he might cry as he said, "You killed the cake."

"Oh, for the love of . . . you can't kill a baked good, you silly mountain, you."

His eyes shot wide as he shifted his attention over the top of her head. At the same moment, she became aware of the elves muttering anxiously to one another.

Turning back to face the mess, once more, she felt her jaw drop open in shock. The magic the elves had shot out to protect them mixed with the sugar, a glittering cloud of alternating pastel colors hung in the air. That was when Hermione remembered . . . .

These sweets had come direct from Honeydukes. Some of them were  _enchanted_  to produce one effect or another.

She started to backpedal as she tried to untangle in her mind the chances of this happening. The two different forms of magical energy mashing together to create some sort of . . . some sort of . . . .

"Convergence?" Orias breathed out the word in shock. "Bloody hell."

Hermione shook her head. "No one is going to believe—"

* * *

"But that's when the cloud sort of . . . burst," Hermione finished with a shrug. Her gaze was in her lap as she twisted her fingers before her. "And here we are."

When her story was met with silence, the younger witch warily lifted her head. The headmistress had tipped her chin up, watching her former favorite student with narrowed eyes.

Exhaling through her nostrils, Minerva nodded slow and turned her head to pin Orias with a withering glare.

He gave a start to find her attention on him. "What?"

"Anything you would care to add to that story, or amend, Mr. Mulciber?"

There was that charming grin of his. "You're asking for _my_  version of events, Headmistress?"

She nodded, again. "That would be correct."

Chuckling, he shrugged and kicked back in his chair. "Well, if you _really_  want to know—"

Hermione shot out her arm, cutting him off by clamping her fingers across his lips.

Orias arched a brow in a suggestive expression as he met his fiancée's gaze.

"Miss Granger?"

Her features pinching in an anxious expression, Hermione let her hand drop as she turned in her seat to face Professor McGonagall, again. "Yes?"

"Is there some reason you don't want me to hear Mr. Mulciber's version of events."

With an uneasy smile spreading across her lips, Hermione said, "Actually, there is, Professor."

"Which is?"

The younger witch cleared her throat, nodding as she once more dropped her gaze into her lap. "Professor, if you've any sense of propriety, at  _all_ , I would humbly suggest you never listen to one of Orias Mulciber's stories."

Her eyes widening—why, yes, she really  _was_  starting to recall his time as a student—Minerva suddenly felt rather certain she probably did  _not_ want to hear his version of events, after all.

"Very well." The elder witch folded her hands atop the desk again and nodded. "Since this was an accident, there won't be a penalty this time. However, I would suggest you two keep your . . . . disagreements away from the pantries in the future. You may go."

The couple thanked the headmistress for her leniency and excused themselves from the office.

* * *

As they made their way through the corridors back toward their shared faculty quarters to clean up, Hermione was aware of Orias walking a few paces behind her. She could feel the weight of his gaze on her.

Halting, she turned to look up at him. "What?"

"Shame on you, little witch."

Her brows shot up and her jaw fell open. "What for?"

He smirked, catching her chin between his fingers and pulling her close for a breathless kiss before he answered, "Because, for once, the  _Orias Mulciber version_  of events is exactly what happened."

She bit back a laugh and shook her head. "Well, sure, but I wasn't about to explain to Minerva McGonagall just how you managed to get sugar down  _there._ "

He uttered a scoffing sound. "Well, sure, but the story about how you chose to clean off that sugar—"

" _Never_  talking about that," she said with a playfully scandalized gasp.

Orias snickered as he watched her turn and start toward their quarters, once more. "Spoilsport."

**HAPPY HALLOWEEN, EVERYONE!**


	3. Blood of My Blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *A Dramione Halloween-themed AU* Hermione is plagued by nightmares she believes are rooted in her fear of commitment. She has no idea the pretty face with blood-drenched lips isn't the work of her mind playing tricks on her.

 

  **BLOOD OF MY BLOOD**

Hermione started awake, bolting upright in bed and clutching her covers to her chest. Swallowing hard, she turned her head in tiny, trembling increments. Her heart beat in her ears, and her breath shuddered as it escaped her lips.

Chestnut eyes scanning her bedroom—still dark in these early-morning hours—the tense set of her shoulders eased and her pulse slowed.  _Nothing_.

Like  _always_.

Sighing, she shook her head and lay back. Hermione stared up at the plain, though dimly lit, ceiling above her. She blinked, and swallowed back a scream to find  _it_  looming over her.

The alarm clock sounded and Hermione's eyes snapped open.

Letting out a shivering breath, she looked down at herself. In the rays of muted sunlight washing across the room from gauzy-curtained windows, she could see her hands clutching the covers to her chest, just as in her nightmare.

The room was not terrifying and shadowed. There was no demon standing beside her bed, swathed in rich black attire and smiling at her with lips wet and dripping crimson.

With that face that so reminded her of Draco.

Crookshanks was curled up at the foot of her bed, which was another comfort. Her great ginger beast of a cat was  _never_  present when her gaze searched the room in her nightmares, so that he was here—and snoozing peacefully—had to mean she was most certainly awake.

Groaning, she sat up and slapped an exhausted hand over the alarm clock. She couldn't go on like this. For weeks now she'd been sleeping, but not resting and everything—eating, brushing her teeth, never mind work—had become such a chore.

The only time she felt revitalized was when she was with Draco.

She pushed the covers away and stood, unsurprised when her stirring woke the cat. He blinked unhappy red-brown eyes at her.

"Don't look at me like that! I've got enough to deal with, thank you very much," she said, frowning.

Crookshanks only blinked at her once more, appearing no less disgruntled than a second ago.

"Fine." She stomped a heel, only vaguely wondering why on earth she was arguing with her cat— _again_. "I'll tell Draco about the nightmares."

As though he understood, the sleepy feline gave a distinct sniff before closing his eyes and setting his head on his curled front paws.

Watching him for a moment longer, she finally shook her head and began grabbing up her bath items from her bureau.

* * *

Leaning her head against the smooth, cool tiles as she stood in the shower, she let the water run over her. She knew  _exactly_  what these dreams were. Her own stupid fears about committing to Draco had morphed into something horrid—pretty on the surface, but edged with a definitive dread that sent her heart hammering against her ribcage hard enough to shatter her bones.

She kept putting off meeting his father. She refused dinner dates at his  _Manor_  house. Honestly, what girl in her right mind did  _that_?

_Yes, I'll just ignore that on top of being gorgeous and brilliant, my boyfriend is_ also _filthy stinking rich, thank you!_

Hermione laughed at herself. Just as quickly, that laughter died on her lips. A chill tore through her, even beneath the spray of hot water as she thought over these last few weeks, over all the feelings which had accompanied the terrible dreams.

As soon as night fell, she couldn't escape the sensation creeping along her skin that she was being watched. When she stood at the sink to wash her dishes, when she stood in front of her wardrobe deciding what to wear for work the following day, she felt the presence of someone standing behind her.

So real, so tangible . . . so  _breathing_  that she swore when she looked over her shoulder, she would find someone standing there. Yet, every time she forced herself to look, nothing was there.

Just as when she woke from the nightmares.

Sometimes she felt pressure against her skin . . . as though someone was stroking the bare skin of her arm, or placing a gentle palm against the small of her back.

Like now . . . as there seemed the tapping and touching of fingertips mingled with the splattering of water droplets down her skin.

"Just your own stupid imagination, Hermione, get a grip," she muttered as she turned off the faucet.

Snatching the towel from over the rail, she wrapped it around herself and stepped from the tub. While she brushed her teeth, she watched her own reflection in the mirror as the glass gradually became less foggy.

Sighing, she nodded to herself. "I  _will_  talk to Draco about them."

Her mind was in overdrive from the lack of restful sleep, that was all. Sharing this with him had to work. Telling him her fears, hearing her own voice speak about it  _had_  to help.

* * *

His dark brows climbed higher and higher up his forehead as she spoke, so that by the time she said the last word, they had all but disappeared beneath the pale-blond fringe of his bangs. She had fussed and fidgeted and darted her gaze about skittishly the entire time . . . .

The Hermione Granger he'd come to know did not fuss, or fidget, or watch the room as she spoke as though she expected some unseen thing to jump out at her from a corner at any moment. Her unusual behavior bothered him. Of course, letting another person's discomforts bother  _him_ was still a new experience for Draco, but he rather liked it.

And he liked  _her_. He didn't enjoy seeing her upset this way.

Shoulders drooping, he laced his finger through hers. Hermione couldn't help a giggle as he pulled her from the arm of the sofa where she was perched to land in his lap.

She curled up against him and tucked her head beneath his chin. "I'm sorry. I know this all sounds completely and totally ridiculous."

"No, no, not at all," he said, dropping a kiss against the top of her golden-brown hair. "With everything you've told me about your life? After your parents' divorce and that idiot Weasle-bee, it's no surprise you're a little gun-shy about committing."

Wincing, she pressed her face against his throat and groaned. She hated thinking back on _that idiot_ not showing up to his own bloody wedding. She was certain no one had ever felt more foolish in their life than she had as she stood at the altar waiting for him.

"Hey, hey." He shifted, moving her in his lap so he could meet her gaze. "I told you before, I'm happy with things as they are, okay?"

Hermione only stared back at him as she pursed her lips in reply.

Draco chuckled, nodding. "All right, yes. I would  _like_  more, but I'm willing to wait until you're comfortable with things being more serious between us."

She bit her lip, keeping back a mischievous grin as she held his gaze. "I'm sure the fact that we were already in bed by our third date helps."

"Well . . . ." Smirking, he glanced toward her bedroom door. "We  _can_  test if that's really a good enough reason for me to stick around waiting."

"Oh," she said with a laugh, even as she pouted. "Nice way to cheapen the moment. I open up to you about something that's really troubling me and—"

He cut her off with a kiss. His hand slipping around the back of her neck, he pulled her tighter against him as he traced her lips with the tip of his tongue.

She leaned back, just enough to look at him. "Okay, yes. To the bedroom!"

Hermione let out a delighted gasp as he scooped her up in his arms and stood, carrying her across the flat as though she weighed nothing at all.

* * *

"I wish you could stay," she said, lacing her fingers through his as she stood at the door with him.

He sank his teeth into his bottom lip as he looked her over. What a sight she made in nothing but her cream colored, scandalously-short dressing gown, with her wild hair all mussed and tumbling about her shoulders.

"Me, too." Draco leaned down, kissing her one final time. "But I have to go see my father about something. I'm sorry. Tomorrow?"

She nodded, reluctantly letting his fingers slip from hers as he opened the door and stepped into the corridor. "Wait!"

He snapped his head around to meet her gaze. She appeared startled by the sound of her own voice, how adorable.

"I—I want to meet him. Your father, I think . . . I think I'd like to meet him."

Draco smiled, understanding her expression now. She'd likely surprised herself with that notion. "Okay. I'll arrange it."

Smiling back, she nodded again as she leaned out into the corridor to kiss him once more and then closed and locked the door behind him.

For a few blissful, silent moments, she merely stood there staring at the door, her arms folded beneath her breasts. Letting out a sigh, she rolled her shoulders and let her head tip to one side a bit. She was actually happy.

Yes,  _that's_  what this feeling was.

The sensation of someone standing behind her crawled along her skin. Setting her head straight, she held in a shuddering breath. Ice churned in the pit of her stomach as a sudden chill danced up her spine.

_Nothing there, Hermione. Just look. Just_  look! _There's_ never _anything there!_

She turned her head, her heart slamming against her ribs at the sound that met her ears. That distinct rustle of fabric as something  _moved_  behind her.

* * *

"Father," Draco called the moment the gleaming double doors of Malfoy Manor had shut behind him. "Dammit, Father, I know you're here!"

He'd thought about Hermione's troubling episodes the entire way home. And he didn't like what he'd heard from her one little bit.

"I told you! I  _told_ you to stay away from Hermione Granger," he said, his tone acidic as he walked through the main floor. "She's  _mine_!"

He poked his head through the parlor entrance and saw his father there. Saw him delicately blotting crimson from his lips with a black silk kerchief.

"Eating in the house again? Very nice. You know Aunt Bellatrix will . . . ." Draco's words died on his lips as he rounded the settee beside which his father knelt and saw the girl there.

With her scandalously short dressing gown, and her tumbling, golden-brown hair.

And,  _now_ , her drained skin white as a sheet.

Holding in a growl, Draco hurried to her side, nearly knocking Father out of his way. Checking her pulse, he turned his head sharply to look at the older Malfoy. "You were supposed to stay  _away_  from Granger! Dammit, Father! I really,  _really_  liked this one!"

Lucius nodded, still dabbing his lips as he shifted up to sit beside the dead girl. "Oh, I know."

Draco opened his mouth to rail at his father more, but Hermione shot up suddenly, a startled shriek tearing from her lips.

As the sound died and the girl turned her head frantically, looking about, Lucius lifted his sleeve, baring his wrist to his son.

Despite the comprehension dawning in Draco's expression as the young man's gaze wandered over the healing gash in his father's wrist, Lucius said with a tiny, albeit genuine smile, "That's why I made her for you."

Hermione's gaze locked on Draco. "Draco? Please, I—I don't understand what's happening."

Before he could answer, her attention shot to Lucius. The red stain he seemed to take too much joy in removing from his mouth slowly, the face that looked so much like Draco's.

"You're . . . ." She swallowed hard, ignoring the burning pain it caused in one side of her throat. "You're the . . . ." No, no. This man wasn't a  _demon_.

He was a—

"Miss Granger, so pleased to formally meet you. I am Lucius Malfoy."

Hermione was distinctly aware of Draco moving to sit beside her as his father looked from her to Draco, and back, again. He laced his fingers through hers, bracing her for Father's next words.

"Welcome to the family."


	4. Glimpsing Dragons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At a wedding for two of her dearest friends, Hermione reminisces about a first kiss no one knows ever happened. Well, no one except a certain former Gryffindor Quidditch captain.

****

**GLIMPSING DRAGONS**

"Does it feel weird being here?" Ginny asked, leaning across Harry to whisper in Hermione's ear.

Pulling back, Hermione's brow furrowed as she darted her gaze to Harry—who was pretending he'd not overheard the question—and then back to his fiancé. "No," she said, shaking her head. "Why should it be?"

"Because it's  _Ron_ ," Harry muttered, nodding toward the newlywed couple taking their first dance across the floor.

Hermione shook her head, laughing softly. It was fine that they were worried about her, but that they all only seemed so worried because she was there alone was a little insulting.

"Yes, it's Ron, and it's  _Luna_ ," she said, patting his shoulder reassuringly. "And they're two of my best friends in the world, and I'm happy for them. Okay? Now can we please just—?"

"Oh, Wood's here. I didn't think he'd make it!"

Ginny's words sent a little, unexpected zip through Hermione.

She turned, following her friend's gaze to see the former Quidditch captain sneaking into the reception hall and hiding along a shadowed wall, no doubt embarrassed at the timing of his arrival.

"Oliver?" As soon as she spoke, she wished she could take back the possibly-too-obvious breathless whisper.

Harry's brows drew up as Hermione turned her attention back, their gazes meeting. " _Oliver_? I didn't know you two were all that friendly."

"Oh, we're not," she said with a dismissive wave of her hand, forcing her gaze to the couple floating across the dance floor. "Other than the whole fighting in the War together thing, and both being friends with you, we barely know each other."

Hermione bit her lip on anymore forced words, afraid that saying anything further would betray the sudden rush of butterflies in her stomach. Honestly, wasn't twenty-seven too old to feel like a school girl?

If only she'd not bumped into Oliver Wood that day outside the Champions' tent in fourth year—after being unceremoniously kicked out. Honestly, she'd only been trying to check on Harry, and then . . . .

* * *

_Hurrying from the tent, through the same confusing, folded side-panel by which she'd slipped in, Hermione ran face-first in to something. She barely got out a muffled_  oof _before fingers slid around her upper arms to push her back a bit. The action was gentle, but brought with it the realization that she'd collided not with something, but some_ one _._

" _Easy there."_

" _Sorry, sorry." Hermione shook her head, lifting her gaze to find the brown eyes of Oliver Wood staring down at her._

_He looked startled a moment, but then he seemed to catch himself, relaxing visibly. "Oh, you're Granger, right? Harry's friend."_

" _Hermione," she said, shaking her head, again. Harry's friend? Honestly, she wondered if this might be how Ron felt all the time._

" _Hermione," he repeated slowly, still looking at her as though he'd never seen her before. "What are you doing over here?"_

_She shrugged, glancing back toward the tent. "I just came to check on Harry."_

" _You're a good friend for doing that."_

_Her eyes narrowed in suspicion. "What are you doing here, then?"_

_Oliver's eyes rolled as he nodded, "I came to check on him, too."_

_Hermione grinned, although she only now realized he still held her by the arms. His touch was so light, she almost couldn't feel it. "Doesn't that make_ you _a good friend, as well?"_

_He shrugged, giving a defiant sniffle. "Well, maybe it's just an excuse to get a closer glimpse at the dragons before they start."_

_She nodded. "Okay," she said with a quick laugh. "That's what I'll tell everyone if they ask me if I've seen you." God_  forbid  _boys should show concern for one another, goodness._

_She started to tug out of his faint grasp, when he said, "I'm sorry."_

" _For what?" she met his gaze again, confused._

" _I didn't recognize you at first. I . . . ." He glanced away, a sheepish smirk curving one corner of his mouth upward. "I've never seen you close enough to notice what's under all this hair."_

_Hermione's jaw dropped a moment, and she sputtered, both amused and insulted. "Well, I . . . I . . . ._ Oh! _That's sort of terrible, you know that?"_

_Chuckling, he lifted a hand, pushing some of her tumbling, wayward locks out of her face. "I'm sorry, honestly."_

_A giddy feeling set off in the pit of her stomach as she stared back at him, certain a blush was flooding her cheeks. "Um, we—we should get to the bleachers, they'll be starting soon."_

" _Yeah," he said, nodding. In apparent afterthought, he dipped his face, kissing her forehead. "Keep being a good friend to Harry, okay? Seems like he needs it."_

_She let out a shivering breath, surprised by the gesture. Nodding, she replied in a whisper, "Okay."_

_He looked up as an announcement sounded, calling the beginning of the event. Meeting her gaze once more, he darted down, again, brushing his lips over hers._

_For the briefest moment, unable to help herself, she leaned into him, before pulling back to look up at him, wide-eyed. "What was that, then?"_

_Stepping back with a grin, Oliver shrugged. "That was for luck."_

_Hermione couldn't stop a giggle that bubbled out of her._ "Harry's  _the_ _one competing!"_

" _Well, for Harry's luck, then." He winked and then he was gone._

_Hermione hurried to the bleachers—after a moment of steadying herself—where she could pretend the color in her cheeks was from the rush of excitement at watching the tournament competition._

* * *

After leaving Hogwarts, she was certain she'd never see him, again.

Until a run-in at the Leaky Cauldron a few months ago—where she'd tipsily admitted to him that he'd been her first kiss—had led to a bit of snogging in a darkened corner. Well, snogging and  _maybe_  some wandering hands, but who was counting?

Now, as the dance finished, applause rose from the guests, and Hermione joined in mechanically. She couldn't help turning to look over her shoulder.

She wanted to pretend she wasn't looking for him. But then her gaze found his. He was moving toward the open doorway, leading to the reception hall's enchanted garden.

Smiling, he bit his bottom lip as he nodded toward the softly glowing array of flowers outside, and then disappeared through the door.

Feeling a rush of warmth in her cheeks, Hermione cast a quick glance at Ginny and Harry. They were pleasantly distracted with one another . . . . As usual.

* * *

"Hey, Hermione, what're you . . . ?" Harry glanced at the seat beside his to see it vacant.

His brow furrowing, he looked to Ginny, his expression questioning. "I could swear she was  _just_  here."


	5. Hermione Granger and the Biscuit Thief: A Christmas Story

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *Yes, Professor-adjacent* Shortly before midnight on Christmas Eve, Hermione is alerted to a problem in the Hogwarts kitchens, leading to a very sweet surprise for her when the clock strikes twelve.

  

**HERMIONE GRANGER AND THE BISCUIT THIEF**

**(A Christmas Story)**

Hermione stirred, aware of a presence in her room as she slowly woke. Bloody hell, she couldn't have been a sleep more than an hour, and already someone was bothering her.

Christmas was tomorrow, and as dismal a prospect as that was in Voldemort's Hogwarts, she wanted to be rested so that she could at least help make the holiday pleasant for the students stuck at school. The likelihood of showing Voldemort that she  _could pretend_  to be in a festive mood for the sake of the younger witches and wizards in her charge was not going to be high at this rate.

She never would've thought keeping up a charade of not feeling anything would be so draining.

"Miss?"

At the familiar chirping voice, Hermione pulled herself to sit up, rubbing the heel of her palm against each eye, in turn. "Winky? What time is it?"

"Nearly midnight. Winky's sorry to wake Miss, but there's a problem in the kitchen."

Groaning, Hermione's shoulders slumped. The elves only reported to her rather than the Dark Lord when it was one of  _Miss' Death Eaters_  causing the problem, and given the last few nights that the elves had been preparing various confections for the students . . . .

"What is it now?"

"He's gotten into the biscuits. Winky tried to stop him, but—"

Hermione cut off the little creature's words with a sigh. "I know. It's okay, I'll deal with him."

Winky's frame drooped in relief as she waited for the witch to kick back her covers and climb out of bed. After Hermione dropped her hand into the elf's waiting fingers, Winky blinked them out of existence from Hermione's quarters off the library, to reemerge in the kitchens.

Even before she got her bearings, Hermione could hear someone rattling about in the pantries.

Winky nodded and backpedaled. "Winky will leave Miss to it, then." The elf popped out of the room, again, leaving Hermione alone with the biscuit thief.

Drawing in a steadying breath, the witch marched toward the sounds, halting only when she was close enough to see the blond mountain of a wizard bent over the silver trays of confections. She shook her head and held in a grumble. Last night it had been the cakes, the night before custard . . . . He'd mentioned in passing that he couldn't control himself around holiday sweets, but she'd not realized at the time how literal he was being.

"Orias Mulciber, you step away from those biscuits  _this_  very second!"

At the wrath in his little witch's tone, he straightened and turned on his heel to face her, his blue eyes wide. "I . . . I wasn't doing  _anything_."

Hermione's brows pinched together and she folded her lips inward to hold back a laugh. The feigned innocence might've worked, except . . . . "Then  _do_ explain the crumbs and sugar in your beard, please?"

His broad shoulder slumped as he held her gaze. "I was standing too close to the tray, is all."

She forced a frown. "Clearly I've been bad influence on you . . . . As a Death Eater, I assume you were a  _much_ more convincing liar, once upon a time."

Orias showed the good grace to feign an affronted expression.

"So," she said with a nod, "if I were to look that tray right now, there would be  _no_ missing biscuits?"

"You know what? It's pretty late, I should escort you back to your quarters."

Hermione was not going anywhere until he fessed up. Her chestnut eyes narrowing, she folded her arms under her breasts.

"Hmm," he breathed the sound as he noted her determined expression. "Fine, you either turn around and _let_ me escort you to your room, or I will toss you over my shoulder, just like I've seen Rowle do, and carry you there."

She made an indelicate scoffing sound in the back of her throat. "You wouldn't  _dare_!"

Orias cracked a broad grin, aware he had her. "I would, in fact. And, because I'm taller than Rowle, it'll make for a further drop if you struggle."

"Fine," she said, hissing out the word from between pursed lips.

She spun on her heel to start off toward the doors, missing the way he reached backward into the pantry, nicking something from the shelves before falling into step behind her.

The entire way, up staircases and through corridors, they didn't speak—keeping Hermione's lifeless act in place as a precaution, should they cross the path of any of his fellow Death Eaters along their way. But, Orias did keep pace, a few steps behind her the entire time, appreciating the sway of his little witch's hips as she walked.

Hermione was aware of his gaze on her as they moved through the castle to the library. It had been a few—very, excruciatingly long—days since they'd had the freedom to be alone together, and now that they were going to be alone, and she could feel the weight of his stare following her movements, _and_  they were away from any distracting servings of holiday sweets, a delicious, heated coil of anticipation wound through her.

But she kept her head high and her eyes and face empty of any reaction as they walked.

When they reached her library-adjacent quarters, she entered, stopping just far enough into the room to allow him to step in behind her and close the door.

The sound of the lock clicking into place echoed in her ears.

Letting out a rattling breath, she turned to face him, a delighted whimper working its way out of her throat as he pulled her against him with one arm to bring his lips crashing down over hers. She stood on her toes, trying to get closer to him, still, as she eagerly explored his mouth, caressing his tongue with her own.

After several breathless heartbeats, he broke the kiss pulling away only enough to meet her gaze. "Now, are you going to get out of those robes yourself," he said, drawing from behind his back the thing he'd nicked from the pantry, "or am I going to have to _tear_  them off you?"

Another rattling exhalation came out of her as she looked to the container of frosting he held up, and then back to him. "Why, Professor Mulciber, whatever do you mean to do with that?"

He smirked. "I mean to satisfy my need for sweets and my need for  _you_  in one go."

Hermione felt color flood her cheeks, her skin warming at the implications. She opened her mouth to speak a breathless response, but the chiming through the castle signaled midnight, cutting off whatever she might've said.

She swallowed hard, aware of the heat of his skin pressing so close to hers. "It's Christmas."

"Then lucky me," he said his voice low, "getting to spend Christmas morning with the witch I love."

Her brows shot up and she was relatively certain she felt her heart thunder to a halt in her chest, but in the most blissful way imaginable. "You love me?"

He nodded.

She reminded herself to breathe as he backpedaled a step and opened the container.

Biting his bottom lip, he held her gaze. "Happy Christmas, my little witch. Now, about your robes . . . ?"

* * *

**(: HAPPY HOLIDAYS :)**  


	6. Sweeter Than This

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (EWE) After leaving her job at the Ministry, Hermione opens a bakeshop for a change of pace. When Lucius hires her to cater an event, she takes the job against her own better judgment. He can't understand why he keeps coming up with new reasons to hire her, and she can't understand why she keeps accepting.

  

**SWEETER THAN THIS**

**(A Lumione One-Shot)**

"I heard about this . . . turn of events, but I daresay, I didn't believe it until just now."

Hermione's shoulders hunched and her happy expression was in danger of melting into a frown. She'd not heard that voice since graduating Hogwarts—certainly he'd been there, too, far less unpleasant than he'd been before the War, but he had still been no prize in the few conversations they'd had during that final year. Forcing a smile onto her face, she set aside the tray of biscuits she'd just taken out to cool.

Spinning on her heel to face the counter, sure enough, there stood Draco Malfoy. A customer is a customer, she reminded herself as she managed in a chipper tone. "Well, Draco, haven't seen you since school. What can I do for you?"

He frowned—though not as severe as the scowl he'd always worn when they'd been children, the soured expression twisting his handsome face was still unpleasant to behold. His grey-eyed gaze darted appraisingly about the bakeshop.

"I was talking with Theo the other day and he mentioned you left the Ministry to start . . . this," he managed to work in a haughty sniff, for effect, she imagined. "I had to come see for myself."

Hermione nodded, dusting off her hands on her pretty, pale-blue apron and folding her arms under her breasts. "Yes, well Theo is a rather good customer. Comes in once a week for our chocolate meringue biscuits."

"Our?" Draco arched a brow, he'd been told she was the sole proprietor, but then he remembered what else Theo'd said. "By that, I can only assume you mean your  _employees_."

As though on cue, Winky came bustling through the door to the back with load frosting ingredients in her skinny arms. The elf set the items down beside the tray Hermione'd taken out, and then bustled off, again.

"You," he said in an almost scandalized tone that actually made the witch laugh, "working with elves? Honestly?"

Her brows lifting, she tipped her head to one side. "Yes,  _with_. They're freed elves. I pay them equivalent to any witch or wizard for the same job, and there are rooms downstairs where they're permitted to board, free of charge if they've nowhere else to go."

His mouth opened in question, but she jumped in before he could get the question out. "They sometimes get taken with late-night cleaning fits. So, I suggested they simply take those rooms, since they weren't being used, so they could pop upstairs and clean or bake whenever they wanted."

He nodded, genuinely surprised. "Seems some human employees don't have it so good."

"What is it you want, Draco? If it's to see the shop, you've done so." Honestly, she'd barely thought about the Malfoys, anymore. In fact, barring every publication in Wizarding Britain making a fuss about Narcissa and Lucius divorcing roughly two years back, which made avoiding thinking about them impossible, she _tried_  not to think about that family, at all.

The way he was looking about, she was surprised he hadn't pulled out a white glove to check the countertops for dust invisible to the naked eye. Another haughty sniffle and he clasped his hands behind his back.

Finally turning his attention to her, he met her expectant gaze and held it for a few, irritating moments before speaking. "I require a caterer for my engagement party, and was shopping around, as it were, for a suitable establishment to take the job."

"Oh?" Hermione asked, making what she felt was an appropriately-girly gushing face. Walking up to the counter, she braced her elbows on it and leaned toward him. "And who is the unfortunate creature?"

"Well, now, you really haven't changed have you?" Despite his words, his tone was playfully chiding.

She nodded and crinkled the bridge of her nose. "Refreshing, isn't it?"

Arching a brow, he nodded. "Huh, you know, it actually is. Astoria Greengrass."

"Our old classmate Daphne's little sister? Poor dear. Did she lose a bet, or something?"

"Ouch," he said, though he couldn't help a chuckle in spite of himself. "I was wrong, you've gotten more vicious over the years."

"And I wish her loads of luck dealing with  _you_. Well," she said with a sigh and gestured toward the tray of samples on the far right of the counter, "you're looking for a caterer, right? Help yourself to a test of my culinary skills."

Draco approached the silver tray, piled high with confections of varying color and texture. He plucked on that looked to be chocolate with some sort of fluffy, whipped topping. He couldn't help but notice Granger watching him like a hawk from the corner of his eye.

"You'd really want the job if we offered it to you?"

Hermione shrugged. "Work is work, Draco. I can be perfectly professional, if  _you_  can manage not to be a nightmare to someone you'd be paying to prepare your food."

"We'll see about that," he offered with a smirk. "Still a few more places I need to look into before we decide anything."

Leaning her hip against the counter, she once more folded her arms. Now, it was her turn to arch a brow as she watched him sink his teeth into the chocolate pastry puff.

* * *

"And it was  _delicious_!" Draco spat the words with what might be fury.

Astoria offered a confused pout, while Lucius simply sniffed and snapped the copy of the Daily Prophet he was reading. "I daresay, Draco, it seems you have found the caterer for the event, I do not understand why you are acting as though she murdered your familiar."

"Oh, no, no. I didn't offer her the job, Father."

At this, Lucius lowered his newspaper. After sharing a quick, confused glance with his future daughter-in-law, they asked in unison, "Why not?"

Draco looked from one to the other, and back, before shaking his head. "Okay, first, I'm simply upset because it wasn't enough she bested me at school, now she even has to be good at something like  _this_ , too? Oh, wait. Did I say good? Because that's a  _drastic_ understatement. No. I could not possibly just go and hire her on the spot, not after the fuss I made, I'd look like a total arse."

Lucius merely stared at his son.

Astoria chewed on her bottom lip for a moment before deciding to point out the obvious. "Yes, because I'm certain she had a lovely opinion of you before this."

The way Lucius raised his paper just then seemed suspicious to Draco. He was rather sure his father was hiding a snicker at the witch's quip.

"I asked for references, and every person on the list absolutely raved about her services." Draco's shoulders slumped. He hadn't told Granger her culinary skill was extraordinary, no, that would sound far too much like flattery, even if it was the truth. It would've felt too much like she'd have gained a victory, somehow, had he admitted to that.

Letting out a sigh, he said, "Father, will you please go and hire her?"

Lucius folded down his paper and locked eyes with his son, one brow arched impossibly high on his forehead. "Why in the name of all that is magical should _I_?"

Draco pulled his gaze from his father's to dart his attention about the room as he answered. "Because I sort of . . . told her that since you're financing all the expenses for the event, that I would need to discuss our options with  _you_ , first."

Uttering an indelicate scoffing sound, Lucius shook his head. But then, he recalled the fiercely proud Muggle-born witch. The notion of her working such a . . .  _common_  job, with former servants, no less . . . .

Yes, that  _was_ something he had to see for himself. He also  _sincerely_  doubted her baked goods were as delicious as Draco's tirade just now would lead one to believe.

"Fine," the elder Malfoy said, with a second—albeit exasperated—shake of his head.

* * *

Hermione was preparing to close up the following evening when she heard the distinct whisper of the shop door opening and closing. But, the footfalls that entered the shop did not move from the floral-printed welcome mat.

Frowning at the way Winky blanched and disappeared into the back, the witch dusted off her hands and turned to face the late customer. "I'm so very sorry, but we're actually . . . ." The words died on her lips and her brow furrowed as she saw Lucius Malfoy standing there.

Oddly, he actually looked not a day older than she remembered . . . well, than she remembered from before the War and Voldemort's abuses had taken their toll on him. She could only guess he'd used the five years since to recuperate and find himself, again. Perhaps she should've expected this after Draco's visit yesterday, yet, somehow, the Malfoy patriarch setting foot in  _her_  shop was not something she could've ever imagined.

He merely arched a brow at her sudden silence.

Clearing her throat, she gave herself a sobering shake. "Mr. Malfoy, I'm terribly sorry, but as you can see, we're just closing up for the day. Is there something I can do for you?"

She thought she should've also expected the haughty sniffle—just like his son's yesterday—as he stepped toward the counter and started looking about.

"Draco has expressed an interest in hiring you to cater his engagement party," he said, his expression bored. There was a certain, strange charm to the streaks of flour on her cheeks. Perhaps it was the way it made her large brown eyes darker, somehow.

"I see." She fussed with a wayward lock of her wild hair that had tumbled out of the sloppy up-do she kept it in while she worked, before simply tucking it behind her ear. "That is good news, but I don't see why you couldn't have simply sent an—"

"I understand Draco explained to you that  _I_  would be financing the party, yes?"

Clearing her throat, once more, she couldn't help but avert her eyes for a fleeting second. His admonishing tone reminded her of exactly why she'd found him so terribly intimidating as a child. "Yes," she said, her voice steady, despite that she had to put effort into calming her suddenly stammering heart.

His brows drew upward ever so slightly and his tone softened, if only fractionally. "And, as such, it would be unwise to hire you without sampling your product for myself, would it not?"

Hermione forced a smile. She didn't really want to take a job from the Malfoys, customer is a customer be damned. They probably only wanted to hire her so they could pick apart her services and have fun at the expense of the _proud Mudblood_.

Well, if that was so . . . . She would simply have to take the job and be so unbelievably amazing at every turn that there would be nothing for them  _to_  pick apart.

She often took the leftover samples up to her flat with her for nibbles—and Crookshanks did so love the lemon custard pastries Winky made—and so she was in the habit of placing a quick stasis charm over the tray when the last customer had left for the day. The enchantment allowed her to take as much time as she needed to clean up and prepare for the morning without worry that any of the more delicate pieces might start to get a little stale.

"You are right, of course, Mr. Malfoy," she said, with as much cheerfulness as she could work into her voice. Retrieving the tray of samples, she tapped it with her wand, removing the charm.

Lucius peered doubtfully as the array of confections. Tapping his chin, he thought carefully before selecting something that looked like a madcap version of Linzer tart. It was a magnificent little monstrosity, topped with bits of fluffy cream and dabs of chocolate in a pattern so intricate, it almost seemed to have no pattern, at all.

Hermione had to put in serious effort not to prop her hands on her hips and impatiently tap her foot as she waited for him to taste it. Honestly, at this rate, she was surprised he hadn't give the bloody thing a test-sniff.

Another thing she was not expecting was the way Lucius Malfoy's face positively lit up as he finally put the sample in his mouth and started to chew. She would ignore the odd little quiver in her belly—she always got excited when a new customer loved her work, _this_  was no different.

After a moment, Lucius schooled his features, and Hermione folded her lips inward so as not to giggle at how obvious his effort to do so was.

"Well, Miss Granger," he said, thinking he was not about to tell Draco that he'd not been exaggerating in the slightest. "I would say the job is yours, if you want it."

* * *

Hermione retreated to the kitchen of Malfoy Manor for what she hoped would be the last time. Bracing her back against the door, she caught her breath and wiped the back of her hand across her forehead.

The elves looked up at the sound—the little darlings had sensed the party was starting to wind down and so were already cleaning up. She adored her staff to pieces, they were  _so_ on top of everything!

"Sorry," she said with a sheepish laugh. "Just . . . I had no idea pure-bloods could pack away the pastries like that!"

Confident the guests would not hear their response, the elves snickered at their employer's quip. They might be free, but many of them still cowered at the thought of an unhappy pure-blood.

She was more than happy that they'd been so busy keeping everyone's taste buds appeased that she'd missed Narcissa Malfoy's cameo at the party to wish the happy couple well. The awkwardness that must've been there between Mr. Malfoy and his ex-wife had lingered, making the environment tense for a good half hour following her departure.

Soon enough, however, the atmosphere had settled, and everyone simply went back to enjoying themselves. And, shockingly enough, that included heaping compliments on Hermione about the food.

Mr. Malfoy found his way into the kitchens just as Hermione was putting on her coat. She'd been about to go out into the main hall of the grand house to find him, though, truthfully, she was sort of glad he'd come to find her, instead. Being in Malfoy Manor, even with all the life and pleasantries in it now, was a bit unsettling for her. She'd been able to ignore the sensation during the celebration, but now that the place was mostly empty . . . .

She wondered if a person could ever get used to something like that.

The smile on his face nearly caught her off-guard. She wasn't certain she'd ever actually _seen_ the man smile, before.

"Mr. Malfoy, are you all right?"

His expression faltered, until he realized  _why_  she was asking. "That is an odd inquiry simply because someone is grinning."

She folded her lips inward to keep in a laugh at being so easily called out on her line of thinking.

"Your payment for services rendered."

Hermione held out her hand for the bag of Galleons he offered. But, as he set it on her palm and she weighed the bag, she started, "This seems like—"

"It includes a hefty gratuity for the excellence of your work, Miss Granger."

Her brows shot up and her jaw fell. Lucius could not resist a chuckle at the genuine shock in her expression.

Giving herself a shake, she simply nodded. "Well, then, thank you very much, Mr. Malfoy." There was a catty little thought in the back of her mind to open the bag and count it to ensure he'd not simply weighed it down with lead, but he'd been surprisingly not-terrible each time they'd spoken during the party. Not to mention counting one's pay right in front of one's employer—even a one-time-only employer—was in poor taste.

"I do hope I can count on your as a reference for future events."

He nodded, but then halted mid-motion. Tapping his chin thoughtfully, he said, "Speaking of future events, I may be planning to hold a Mayday celebration."

"Really?"

Lucius shrugged. "It was an old Malfoy tradition I thought might be nice to bring back. I thought designing themed fare, something in keeping with Spring . . . not that _I_  have the faintest notion what that might be, but if you are interested—"

Hermione cut him off with a tiny gasp. "Oh, yes! That sounds amazing. I would—" She then cut _herself_  off with a frown and a look of disappointment at herself. Honestly, how could she get so carried away like that? "I am so sorry, Mr. Malfoy. I simply love what I do, now, and I get a bit ahead of myself with it, sometimes."

"Do not apologize, Miss Granger," he said with a small smile. "It is a rare few who get to truly love what they do. Relish it."

He watched her leave with her staff, a smile on her face as she audibly discussed ideas for the Mayday fare with them. And . . . there went a curious little _thump_  in the center of his chest.

Over the next several days, it seemed many times he could not get her smile out of his head. But each of those times, there went that curious little  _thump_ , once again.

* * *

The Mayday celebration was another rousing success for Hermione and her staff. The atmosphere, this time, was so boisterous, that each time Mr. Malfoy needed to discuss something with her, he had to draw her close and speak right into her ear.

She pretended not to notice that the sweep of his warm breath against her skin as he did so brought with it the winging of butterflies through her stomach. And, of course, she did not feel her heart skip a beat when she was forced to lean into him, pressing a hand to his chest for balance as she stood on her toes to answer in his ear.

* * *

"I'm stepping out, everyone. I'll be back in an hour," Hermione called over her shoulder, several weeks later.

As she stepped out the shop door, she nearly collided with someone as she faced forward. Strangely, she recognized the hands that gently gripped her shoulders, steadying her.

"Oh, Mr. Malfoy, I'm sorry I didn't see you, there."

"Clearly," he said with a smirk as he dropped his hands from her. "I came to speak to you about another event I'm planning."

"Oh?" Her brows arched upward ever so slightly—she'd not imagined him such a festive person, but here this was probably the fifth time he'd sought to hire her for some party or another.

"Are you going somewhere?"

"Oh, just a lunch break." She laughed at his confused look—she worked in a bakeshop, after all. "There's only so much of one's own cooking a woman can eat, Mr. Malfoy."

With a thoughtful expression, he said, "Well, then, would you mind if I joined you? I could fill you in on the details without taking time away from your day."

Hermione blinked a few times in rapid succession as she processed his request. "Oh, um, all right."

And so it was that she had lunch that day Lucius Malfoy. Moreover, she had quite a lovely conversation with him. So lovely, in fact, that before she knew it, her time was up.

Furrowing her brow, she said, "I can't believe it, but it's already time for me to return."

Lucius' brows shot up. "Oh, I am sorry. We did not even get to talk about the party."

"Well . . . ." Hermione shrugged lightly as she stood from the table. "I suppose then, you'll simply have to see me back to the bakeshop and explain along the way."

Scraping together a terribly put-upon expression, the wizard said with a heavy sigh, "Yes, well, I suppose there's nothing to be done for it."

* * *

Another event catered for Mr. Malfoy, another raging success among Wizarding Britain's uppercrust. Hermione'd had so many bookings recently—in part thanks to the events she catered for Mr. Malfoy, she was aware—that they'd had to plan around her now-busy schedule as to when he would have it. She'd been disappointed when he told her the original date, as she'd already had a baby shower to work that day.

But then, rather than dismissing the notion and choosing to hire another establishment, he offered to change the date of his soiree. Hermione ignored that this acquiescence made her happy.

Her staff had started on tidying up later than usual that particular night on account of how busy they were. She'd had her hands so full with being out on the floor among the guests—what with Mr. Malfoy insisting he introduce her to anyone she hadn't already met, so that they might give credit for the lovely fare where it was due—that she'd not even managed to get away until after the last guest had left.

Winky scooted past her, accidentally knocking Hermione on her bum. In a trail of flour that had spilt, and not been cleaned up, just yet.

Startled at the collision, the elf spun on her heel. "Oh, Miss 'Mione, I's—"

She was cut off by her employer tossing handful of flour at her. Her employer, who, in turn, ducked out of the way of a bonbon. Derner, one of the other elves who'd been bustling just behind the witch at the time, unceremoniously plucked the bonbon from his eye and lobbed it back across the kitchen.

Hermione found it blissful, just _how_  free the elves could be when they were permitted to be themselves—when they were introduced to fun, and allowed to indulge in it. She wasn't as ignorant of their nature as she used to be, though. She understood they only really gave themselves over to the notion of fun because in a warped way, they viewed her as their Mistress, and they knew watching them be lighthearted would make her happy. But that thought process, that they were still serving someone, made  _them_ happy, and that she'd brought them happiness did make her quite pleased with the situation, even if she didn't find it ideal.

However, that was probably precisely how she ended up in a full-on food fight with her staff in the kitchens of Malfoy Manor.

Amid the laughing and playful name-calling as they ducked frosting and flour and baked goods, no one noticed the silver-haired wizard step into the room.

"Miss Granger, I—" Lucius Malfoy promptly fell silent as a thick helping of custard hit him square on the jaw.

"Oh, no!" Hermione clamped her hands over her mouth, her eyes wide as she stared in horror.

Immediately the elves muttered apologies and leapt to cleaning the mess they'd created.

Mr. Malfoy met the witch's gaze. Grey eyes narrowing, he folded his lips inward. Turning on his heel, he trooped right back out of the room, custard-faced, still.

"Oh, no," she said, again, her shoulders slumping as she hurried after him. "Mr. Malfoy?"

He hadn't gone far beyond the kitchen doors as she exited and caught up with him. "I am so sorry. I know that was horribly unprofessional—" When he continued walking through the room, she determinedly picked up her pace to get ahead of him. Rounding to place herself before him, she effectively forced him to halt.

Staring up at him, she started again. "I know it was horribly unprofessional, and it would  _never_  happen again, if . . . if you so choose to ever hire us, again, that is. We were simply letting off steam after a long night, and it got out of hand. I'm sorry."

Lucius rolled his eyes. It had actually been quite pleasant to see them letting off steam, as she called it, in such a ridiculous way—and her staff were _elves_ , he trusted them to clean up after themselves.

What he'd not expected was to be traversing his own home with a face full of custard! He'd been so caught off-guard by the incident that it hadn't occurred to him to simply wipe it off.

Licking his lips impatiently—well, that _was_  good—he let out a weary sigh. "Miss Granger—"

"Oh," she said, laughing in spite of the situation. "No, no, wait. Let me." She retrieved a cloth napkin from the pocket of her apron.

Shaking her head, she reached up, gently wiping custard from his jaw.

There was simply something in her smile as they stood there, in the dining hall of his home, her features softly illuminated by the moonlight through the too-large windows. Meeting her gaze as she gently swiped at his skin, he felt it again. That curious little thump that had become something of an old friend over these months.

Hermione sensed a change in how he was looking at her. Her smile faltered and her hand stilled, mid-motion.

He slid his hand around hers, holding it there for what seemed an eternity.

She knew he was giving her time to move, to pull away, if she wished. She only continued looking up at him, waiting to see what he would do, if she allowed it.

Cupping her jaw with the fingers of his free hand, he urged her up onto her toes and dipped his head.

The first brush of his lips over hers stole her breath. She leaned closer, deepening the kiss for a few, dizzying moments.

Pulling back, she opened her eyes and met his gaze.

At the strange little grin turning up the corners of her mouth, he gave an uneasy half-smile. "Was that all right?"

She couldn't help an airy giggle at the idea of this mature, formerly-Dark wizard sounding so uncertain of himself. Sounding so uncertain of himself, because of  _her_ , no less.

"It was actually quite nice," she said with a nod. "But you'd still had a bit of custard on your lip, so I suppose I should say it was sweet, too."

His brows inching upward, a thoughtful smile replaced the uneasy one. Glancing at the napkin in her hand—still clutched in his—he noted the smear of custard on it.

Hermione mirrored his expression as she watched him lift the napkin back toward his face. He dabbed a bit of custard across his bottom lip.

A bit breathless at the obvious invitation, she couldn't help a grin as she stood on her toes, closing the distance between them, once more.

**THE END**

* * *

FYI . . . I made myself want cookies SO bad while writing this XD


	7. The Pygmy Puff Incident

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pansy doesn't know what's worse, that she fancies Luna Lovegood, or that Draco knows. She's pretty sure it's the fancying a flighty Ravenclaw bit, until Draco decides a little prank might be just the thing to get her to admit her feelings. *Shameless fluff*

  

**THE PYGMY PUFF INCIDENT**

Luna made a peeping noise, her lips folding inward as she pointed to the top of Pansy's head.

Pansy had gotten to know the girl well enough in their time working at the Magical Menagerie that she recognized the sound as an attempt to hold back a giggle. Her features twisted into a scowl. She hadn't needed the other witch's reaction to know—she could feel the silly thing sitting up there.

Though there was no possible way she could actually see it, she rolled her eyes upward, toward the Pygmy Puff that had seated itself atop her hair. Shoulders slumping, she then cast her gaze about the shop's aisles. The fluffy bunches of pink and white fur were absolutely  _everywhere,_ making  _cute_ little noises, and bouncing and rolling all over the shop's cramped aisles.

"Dear  _God_ , I hate you, Draco," she said in a seething whisper.

* * *

_**Just a few minutes earlier . . . .** _

The Grandfather clock behind the counter chimed nine and Pansy lifted her head from her folded arms. "Luna? It's closing. Go lock up the front."

Luna poked her head out the door of the backroom, her arms weighted down with empty, freshly cleaned cages. She looked past Pansy to the front of the shop—to which the sleepy, dark-haired witch was closer—and pouted. "I'm really sorry, Pansy, but you'll have to get it."

And just like that, the blue-eyed girl with the soft, lilting voice had vanished again.

With a heavy sigh, Pansy slipped from her stool and rounded the counter. "I swear, it's like I have to do  _everything_ myself," she muttered, swallowing a yawn as she reached the shop's front door.

Whatever, it wasn't as though she'd had any expectation of getting to watch Luna flit through the shop. With her long, pale-gold her and perfect, slender limbs.

Scowling, she spared a moment to bat her forehead against the wood frame of the door. Honestly, working with animals all day must've driven Pansy mad at some point, because she could think of no other reason why she'd become so fascinated with the flighty, day-dreamy girl.

If only the post-War reforms hadn't been deliberately designed to hit traditionalist pure-blood families hardest of all, she and her friends wouldn't be stuck taking on menial work like this. Their family fortunes were being picked to the bone to repair damages throughout Wizarding Britain.

The _travesty_  of it all!

She never would have had to take this job, otherwise. Draco was the lucky one, swooping in and taking the open position at Flourish and Blotts before anyone had even realized they were hiring. Blaise had somehow convinced Old Man Olivander to take him on as an assistant. By the time Pansy had dragged herself to look for a job, the silly creature shop was the only place left in Diagon Alley willing to hire on a Slytherin witch.

If she'd been a day, two days earlier, maybe she'd have hired on somewhere else. Anywhere else. And then she wouldn't be here, getting butterflies in her stomach every time Luna handed her something and their fingers accidentally brushed. Every time she thought she caught Luna looking at her while she wasn't paying attention.

Every time Luna bumped Pansy's hip with her own, in that cute little scooting-in maneuver she did whenever she joined Pansy behind the counter.

Pansy's entire body drooped as an unattractive groan tore from her throat. Honestly, she was  _hopeless_.

A knock from the other side of the door startled her and she stepped back, peering through the glass. She frowned at the face staring back at her as she pulled the door open.

"Draco, what are you—?"

He pushed past her and into the shop, cutting her off. "Just dropping by to see how you're doing, is all."

"Yes, because that's  _so_  like you."

Nodding, he couldn't help a smirk. "Yeah . . . . Actually, just finished my shift, thought I'd pop by on my way to meet Granger."

"Oh, hullo, Draco," Luna called out from one of the aisles as she went about placing creatures back into their cages.

The sudden way Pansy's posture stiffened, and how her dark eyes darted in the direction of the other girl's voice, spoke volumes.

Draco's shoulders slumped. Just as he thought, Pansy hadn't said a word. And now he owed Granger five Galleons.

He dropped his voice to a whisper. "Just talk to her already, you sour, stubborn little woman."

Pansy pursed her lips, but didn't bother being insulted by his words—it wasn't anything she hadn't heard from him a million times before, and it was  _hardly_ the worst thing he'd ever said. "I . . . I talk to her every bloody day."

His brows drew upward and he simply stared at her.

"What?"

"You like her."

Pansy's eyes shot wide, but she only snapped at him. "Oh, how would you know?"

"Because the way you look at her is the same way you used to look at me during all third year," he said, a smug grin plucking the corners of his mouth upward.

"Maybe I was simply wondering how your hair doesn't blind people when you're under direct sunlight."

He chuckled. "Cute."

"Hmph."

"We're technically closed," Luna said, seeming to bounce over to them out of nowhere. "But since it's you, we can make an exception."

Draco looked from Luna, to a fuming Pansy, and back, granting the blonde girl a charming smile. "Well, aren't you a darling? Thank you."

Luna shrugged her petite shoulders, beaming. "Any boyfriend of Hermione's is a friend of mine."

Brow furrowing, Draco glanced back at Pansy—who winced and shook her head—before following the other girl through the shop toward the counter. "First time I've heard that. Okay. So, I was thinking of getting Granger a little something. Not a familiar, that mangy, ginger Kneazle-beast of hers is still alive and well. Just . . . something small, cute . . . .

"Something like . . . ." His gaze slid in Pansy's direction for a split-second before he continued. "Well, something like you, only a fluffy little animal. That'd be perfect, don't you think so, Pansy?"

Pansy, when he glanced to her, again, was not listening. She had turned away and appeared  _far_  too busy once more batting her forehead against the door to pay him any mind.

He noticed the quick drift of Luna's eyes toward the other girl; noticed the faintest tinge of pink dot her fair cheeks.

She covered it easily, smiling broadly as she nodded. "I actually think we have just the thing!"

Luna disappeared down one of the aisles. Draco's head bobbed side-to-side, scrutinizing the myriad of knick-knacks behind the counter was he waited.

Until a sudden jab in his ribs made him jump. Clamping his hand over his side, he feigned a wounded look as he met Pansy's gaze. "What was that for?"

Standing on her toes to lean up into his face, she said in hissing whisper, "You are a total arse!"

"Oh." He grinned winningly at her. "Thank you! I  _have_  been practicing."

She lowered her heels to the floor as she scowled. His sense of humor had really gotten better since he'd started up with Granger. He was so much less angry these days than he'd been when they were children.

And she hated it, a little.

"Here we go!" Luna was beside them suddenly, setting a fluffy, pink-and-white ball on the counter.

Draco's eyebrows shot up as he found himself face-to-face with a particularly chipper-seeming Pygmy Puff. "I . . . thought they only sold these things at Weaslebee's joke shop."

"Usually they don't have enough to meet demand, but recently . . . . Well, they had a . . .  _few_ extra, and so they let the owner take some off their hands."

"A few extra?" he echoed, his gaze leaping from one girl to the other.

Pansy shrugged. "They were trying to increase their stock, so instead of _carefully_  breeding them, they decided to just stick the males and females in the same cages. And, well, turns out those randy little buggers put bunnies to shame."

Draco snorted a laugh at the mental picture of the joke shop being overrun with the tiny, puffy bunches of fur.

He pursed his lips to hide a grin as inspiration struck.

Luna spun to face Pansy, her expression oddly serious. "Can you handle it from here? I really should get back to the cages."

It seemed to Pansy that a few, strained heartbeats passed of her simply holding Luna's big, blue-eyed gaze before she managed a nod. Really, it couldn't have been more than a couple of seconds, but it had  _felt_  like forever.

Luna flitted down the main aisle and vanished around a shelf.

"How much is it?" Draco asked, snapping Pansy back into the moment.

No, she told herself adamantly. She had  _not_  been watching Luna walk away!

"Um," she said, shaking her head and rounding the counter for the shopkeeper's ledger. Really, she should welcome the distraction, shouldn't she?

She ticked off the price to him, only half-paying attention as she took the money he set on the counter beside the little fluffy thing. Only half-paying attention as she handed him the appropriate creature care scroll, and mentioned items he might want to purchase, on Granger's behalf, for upkeep of the animal. All helpfully noted in the ledger.

Until she heard the spell he muttered under his breath.

Pansy stilled and lifted her gaze. There, beside Draco's purchase was a second Pygmy Puff. Another one  _poofed_  into existence on the opposite side, right before her eyes.

Dark eyes widening, she straightened up as the counter slowly filled with duplicate Pygmy Puffs. "Draco, _what_ did you do?"

He gave her a mystified look, as though he didn't understand the sudden worry in her face. Picking up Granger's Pygmy Puff, Draco pretended not to notice the others, still multiplying, as he delicately petted the top of its tiny head with the tips of his fingers.

"I thought you could . . . use an excuse to stay a bit late tonight. As the saying goes, the customer is  _always_  right, after all." Finally, he looked at the growing collection of fluffy creatures around them. "Seems like it'll take you and Lovegood  _quite_  a while to get a handle on this."

He backed away slowly to the door, grinning wickedly the entire way. "Suppose I'll just be going, then."

"Wha—?" Pansy darted a glance about. "Draco, no, you have to help me with this!"

Draco opened the door and set a foot outside. "Sorry, I would, but . . . that rather seems like a task for the people who work here. Night."

And like that, he was gone.

Pansy squeezed her eyes shut as she hollered for Luna.

The other girl's panicked voice brought Luna running from the back of the shop. "Pansy, what's wro—?" She managed to skitter to a halt just a few steps from where the excess of Pygmy Puffs were spilling over the counter to land on the floor.

Blinking rapidly, she watched as they started scurrying about the shop floor, starting toward the aisles and bottom-most shelves to explore in their adorable, rolling, wobbling movements.

"What happened?"

"Draco happened. He thought it would be funny to play a little prank on me."

Luna giggled as some of the more adventurous little fluff-balls brushed against her sandaled feet on their way to wander about. "Well, at least their cute!"

"Luna!"

Kind, but unflinching blue eyes met Pansy's as Luna said, "I know you're upset, but don't be cross with me. You're the one who let him in the shop."

Making a little disgusted noise in the back of her throat—oh,  _sure_ , she let him in, but she wasn't the one that gave him that first, silly little beast, in the first place—Pansy carefully picked her way through the puffy creatures to stand before the other witch. " _Stop_  making sense, and help me!"

Luna blinked rapidly a few times, processing the request. "Funny, usually people  _want_  me to make sense."

Pansy's shoulders drooped as she whined. "Luna!"

"Okay, okay," Luna said, though she couldn't help laughing as she spoke. She reached out, her movements tentative, and circled Pansy's wrists with her fingers.

Pansy's gaze snapped from Luna's, to the hands holding her arms, and back. God, she hoped that was a faster  _snapping_ , than it felt like. She supposed she should be grateful that she was managing to keep her blush in check.

Though she'd only done it to be certain she had Pansy's full, currently-panicky attention, Luna found that she had to mindfully refrain from stroking her fingertips along the insides of the other girl's wrists in a soothing gesture. Those pretty, dark eyes were clouded with worry—she probably feared that if the excess Puffs caused any damage, she might lose her job—and that bothered Luna more than she knew it probably should.

Definitely more than Pansy would probably like. But then, sometimes the way Pansy looked at her, Luna couldn't help but consider that maybe she was wrong.

"Look," she finally said, wondering if Pansy had noticed how long it'd taken her to start speaking, again, "the spell will wear off, and then they'll all be gone. All  _we_  have to do is keep them from damaging anything while they're still here."

"Okay, okay, yeah." Pansy drew a breath and let it out slowly. Before she realized she'd even done it, she shifted her wrists in Luna's grasp so that the other girl's hands now clung to her own. Luna's frame seemed to stiffen a bit, but Pansy tried not to read anything into that, squeezing Luna's hands gently in a sign of . . . gratitude.

Yes, that was it, gratitude for being the calm one in this utterly absurd situation, that was  _all_.

"What do we do, first?"

"We'll . . . ." Luna thought as she raked her gaze over the flood of pink and white fur covering the shop floor. "We'll treat them like regular creatures until they vanish! Put them in cages, give them food and water, and just wait for the spell to run its course."

"Yeah, yeah. That sounds good." Looking about, as well, Pansy asked, "Do you think they've stopped multiplying?"

Luna's grip tightened on Pansy's hands ever so slightly as she stilled, listening. "I think so. I don't hear that  _poof_  sound them were making when they appeared. I'll go get the extra cages from the storage room, you get the feed and dishes for water."

Pansy nodded, thinking there was a reluctance to the movement as Luna's hands slipped from hers. But there she went, imagining things, again. She turned away, heading for the feeding supplies.

Unable to help watching the other girl drift across the floor, Luna bit her bottom lip to hold in a smile. She was almost certain, from their exchange just now, that she  _was_  wrong. Pansy was looking at her  _exactly_  the way she thought the Slytherin girl had been.

Thrilling at the wild sensation of butterflies zinging through her stomach, Luna turned and made her way—carefully moving around the veritable colony of Pygmy Puffs—to the stairs which led to the storage room.

When Luna returned with the first armload of cages, she found that there were, in fact,  _more_  Pygmy Puffs that'd poofed into existence.

And, worse yet, a few of them had managed to bounce up the shelves. As she set down the cages and tried to assess how many more they might need, one of the exploring Puffs fell from a tall shelf.

That was the moment Pansy felt a Pygmy Puff land on her head, and she proceeded to curse the very day she'd met Draco Malfoy.

Fortunately, the Puffs were tiny, so more of them fit into each cage, with room to move about and play, than they'd first thought possible. Some of the creatures seemed to notice the others being snatched up, and weren't having it, bouncing and scurrying away, rolling beneath shelves and behind cages.

Twice the girls had literally tripped over each other in their dash to catch the more slippery ones.

"Oh, my God," Pansy said, laughing in spite of herself as she sat on the shop floor in the midst of a cluster of filled cages. "That was a  _nightmare._ Did we really get all of them?"

Luna swiped the back of her hand across her forehead as she leaned back against the counter. "I think so. Not sure this plan helped at all, though. Seems we managed to make more of a mess than the Pygmy Puffs."

"I'm going to get fired for this, I just know it." Sleeping on the job? Owner let that slide. Being late every now and then? She was reprimanded, but that was the end of that. Being generally unhelpful? Luna always dashed over to save the day, swearing Pansy would get the hang of it all,  _soon enough_.

But tearing up the shop in an effort to contain an explosion of Pygmy Puffs, which had only occurred because she allowed her friend in after closing? Oh, yes, she could hear it, already. Fired from a creature shop. How embarrassing!

Disliking the misery in the other girl's tone, Luna stepped around the cages to sit on her heels before Pansy. "Don't worry, I'll help you clean up. No one will ever know it looked like this."

Pansy bit her lip as she held Luna's gaze. "Really? But I've been awful to you."

With a light shrug, Luna smiled. "Oh, I don't take that personally. You're awful to everyone."

A surprised laugh bubbled out of Pansy, and Luna couldn't help but smile. She liked the sound of Pansy laughing— _genuinely_  laughing, not that mean, shrill sound she used to make when they were students.

"Actually, as I'm pretty sure you've never cleaned anything a day in your life, you can help  _me_  clean up."

"I can do that!" Honestly, Pansy had been a little worried at the notion of being in charge of a terrifying thing like  _tidying up_.

"Good."

Pansy was certain the words would burn her tongue on the way out, but she said them, anyway. "Thank you."

Luna simply looked at her for a long, quiet moment. She was pretty certain that Pansy—along with never cleaning—had never thanked anyone before, in her life. Yet, the longer she held Pansy's gaze, the more she felt her skin warm.

And she was certain this time that she saw the faintest bloom of red flare in Pansy's cheeks.

Unsure what to do with Luna staring at her like that, Pansy cleared her throat and glanced down the main aisle. "I suppose we'd better get started."

Nodding, Luna hopped up to stand and offered her hand to Pansy.

Though Pansy was a little nervous to touch her again, she lifted her arm. Slipping her hand into Luna's cool, slender fingers, Pansy let the other girl help her to her feet.

It took a moment for Pansy to relinquish her hold, and in that moment Luna decided she'd had enough of tiptoeing about. She bounced forward, closing the meager distance between them to brush her lips against Pansy's.

The dark-haired witch blinked rapidly, a deep blush flooding her face. Her eyes shot wide as Luna leaned back, again.

"Wh—?" Pansy cleared her throat and shook her head, painfully aware of the tingly warmth in her cheeks. "What'd you do that for?"

Luna pouted, uncertain why she had to ask. "I thought you wanted me to."

"Why would you think that?" Pansy wondered if she'd really been so obvious.

The Ravenclaw shrugged, the bewilderment in the other girl's dark eyes causing a tiny, painful twinge in the center of her chest. "Because I've seen how you watch me."

Pansy was dumbstruck—clearly she  _had_  been obvious, and she hadn't the foggiest idea of it. Well, no, she had an idea of it, but she'd  _hoped_ she hadn't been.

Luna nodded, taking Pansy's lack of response for an answer. Her clear blue gaze fell to the ground as she forced a gulp down her throat.

"I noticed because . . . . Because I've been watching you, too, so I thought . . . ." Luna shrugged, her voice tight as she let her words trail off.

Certainly, Pansy was difficult, and coarse, and sometimes a right pain in the arse, but that was simply who she was, and she wasn't afraid of it. Luna liked to think of Pansy as someone who was fearlessly herself, regardless of what others thought. Just as  _she_  was, and Luna couldn't help but like her for it.

Perhaps she'd misjudged, though. She did that sometimes, after all. "Sorry. I . . . I didn't mean to trouble you." She turned her head away, looking toward the mess littering the aisles now that the excess of Pygmy Puffs had been tucked away. "You know what? You go home, it's fine. I—I'll take care of the mess and lock up."

Pansy's brow furrowed as she watched Luna drift away from her. There'd been the oddest pang behind her ribcage as she'd seen Luna's face crumble only a few, strained heartbeats ago. As she watched some of the brightness leave those blue eyes.

She should let this drop, she knew. Let Luna walk away, and leave it be. That would be proper, after all.

But if she did, this might be unfixable, and she'd miss her chance. And what good had being proper ever done for her, anyway?

"Luna, wait," she said, her voice escaping her in a shaky whisper.

Luna was pretty sure she felt her heart skip a beat as she paused, mid-stride. She pivoted on her heel to face the other girl.

Hurrying to cross the few steps between them, Pansy slipped a hand around the back of Luna's neck and pulled her close. For a moment, she froze. Luna's sweet, minty breath was warm on her lips, making the delicate skin tingle.

"You were right," she murmured, her mouth brushing every so lightly against Luna's as she spoke. "You were right, I did want you to."

Dark eyes drifting closed, she tipped her head to one side and pressed her lips to Luna's.

Luna held in an ecstatic giggle as her arms circled Pansy's waist. The mirthful sound slipped out as the other girl's tongue darted between her lips.

Pansy's head snapped up and she scowled at the blonde witch, but she made no move to pull away, or to slip from Luna's gentle embrace. "Well, that's a bit rude!"

Luna sank her teeth into her bottom lip as she grinned. "Sorry! I was just excited you were kissing me."

Smirking, Pansy arched a brow. "Okay, fine. Don't suppose I can be upset over _that_ , now can I?"

Her expression turning serious, suddenly, Luna lifted a hand to trace Pansy's lips with the tip of her finger. Pansy felt her breath come up short at the sensation.

"So, is this actually a . . . are  _we_  a thing, now?"

Pansy waited for Luna to meet her gaze before she answered. "If you want."

A broad smile playing on her lips, Luna nodded.

"After we get this all sorted, and lock up the shop, maybe . . . we can continue this chat?"

Again, Luna nodded. "I like that sound of that. You're  _actually_ going to still help me clean up, aren't you?" she asked, as she stepped backward, slipping out of Pansy's delicate hold.

Pansy's eyebrows shot up, disappearing beneath her bangs. "Oh, Merlin's Beard, woman! I  _said_  I would," she said with a laugh. "But _just_ this once."

Giggling and rolling her eyes, Luna turned away and summoned the broom to her hand. Yes, Pansy was difficult, and coarse, and a right pain in the arse.

And Pansy was _hers_.


	8. Winter Wolves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *Dedicated to my bestie, Kittenshift17* Hermione receives some surprising news as she and her mates prepare for the Holidays. Overhearing a conversation between Orias and Fenrir, she decides to use that surprise to make Fenrir's first real Christmas unforgettable. *Holiday One-Shot*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As mentioned in the title, this is a One-Shot. This ficlet is connected to my current WIP Heathens, and is part of The Werewolf Rebellion Chronicles series (of which Heathens is the first story). However, you do not need to read Heathens to enjoy this little bitty work.
> 
> This, as mentioned as well, is dedicated to my bestie Kittenshift17 (well, one of my besties, the other being the wonderful Canimal), who encouraged me to write this after I was seriously contemplating giving up writing, altogether, over this past weekend.
> 
> *Orias Mulciber is my take on the canon character of Mulciber, and appears in a number of my DE-centric works.
> 
> Fancast: Brock O'Hurn as Orias Mulciber; Jason Momoa as Fenrir Greyback; Charlize Theron as Narcissa Malfoy
> 
> DISCLAIMER: I do not own Harry Potter or any affiliated characters, and make no profit, in any form, from this work.

 

**WINTER WOLVES**

Her chestnut eyes shot wide as she looked over the message from the Medi-witch. Fingers a bit numb as she half-heartedly closed the window while the delivering owl flew into the distance, Hermione stumbled over to the nearest chair and simply fell into it.

"Well, don't you just look dreadful?"

She didn't even have it in her to jump at Narcissa Malfoy's voice as the blonde witch entered the sitting room. Blinking a few times, she looked up at the other woman. Without a word, she held the missive out for Narcissa to read.

Taking the slip of embossed parchment, Narcissa scanned the words a moment, going over them a second time before her perfectly arched brows shot up. "Oh, well, now. Is this unhappy news?"

Hermione shook her head, managing to collect herself enough to speak. "Not unhappy, simply . . . unexpected."

The blonde snickered and handed back the message. "With what you three get up to? Hardly."

"I meant there being  _two_."

"Oh, well . . . ." Narcissa tipped her head side-to-side. "This circumstance isn't common, but it does happen on rare occasion. And, like the Medi-witch wrote, it's likely on account of what you are that it was, well, a little  _less_ rare."

Hermione drew in a deep breath and let it out slow, trying to calm her quickly fraying nerves. "Okay, I have to go tell them."

Narcissa nodded, stepping aside to allow the young woman a direct line from where she sat to the door. "By the way," she said as Hermione crossed the floor, "lovely work on the Holiday decorations, my dear."

Looking back at her, Hermione smiled a bit awkwardly—her friendship with Narcissa Malfoy still an odd thing she hadn't quite come to terms with, yet—and nodded. Here, she'd thought the woman was about to give her another reprimand for biting Lucius. Was his own bloody fault for getting between her and her mates on a full moon, after all.

The couple might be having issues, but for whatever Lucius thought, Narcissa still viewed him as her husband, and so Hermione had feared the witch's wrath and disappointment on the heels of the incident much more than any other possible outcome. Lucius, shockingly, level-headedly perhaps, turned the blame inward, as well, as he'd put himself in harms way when he full-well knew the werewolves were not in control of their own actions.

Didn't stop him from skulking about the Manor at bizarre hours, giving everything and everyone he encountered loathsome looks.  _So_ dramatic.

Sighing heavily, Hermione made her way through the massive house. Let's see, what time was it? . . . Oh, she wasn't sure it mattered, there were sweets in the kitchen, which meant  _that_  was where Orias would be. Bloody hell, she was going to have to ward the place to keep him out, wasn't she?

She considered that perhaps she should speak to them together, but given the rare, yet less-than-rare-for-their-kind circumstances, explaining it to each of them separately and slowly might be her best bet.

"If you don't stop eating those, she's going to kill you."

Fenrir's voice stopped her as she reached the kitchen doors.

Orias snickered. "She can certainly try. I's almost cute when she does give it a shot. Bit like a butterfly trying to hurt a dragon."

Folding her lips inward to keep in a scoffing sound, Hermione eased one of the doors open to peek inside at her mates. There sat Orias Mulciber at the kitchen table, the jar of candy canes she'd hidden open before him. She didn't know how, but she managed to keep herself from growling. She'd been so careful,  _how_ did he find them?

Honestly! It was the strawberry cake from her birthday all over again.

"I don't get it," Fenrir said, frowning as he picked up one of the freshly-frosted biscuits and sniffed at it before dropping it back onto the tray. "I mean, I've seen the decorations around before, I just . . . never understood the fuss humans make this time of year."

"First of all," Orias started, finishing noisily crunching one candy cane and immediately reaching for another, "she's not been human in a while, now, thanks to you. Second, she's your mate, her culture is yours, now, too, just like yours has become hers."

"Amazing how you actually stopped from inserting yourself into that observation."

Hermione nodded. She did have to admit Orias had an amazing knack for remembering to mention that she was  _his_  mate, as well, whenever the subject was mentioned. As though he worried any of them would forget.

"That's because she and I are from the same culture, I didn't feel like it had to be mentioned?"

"All right, then, so you tell me." Fenrir stomped across the kitchen to pull out a chair. Spinning it around, he sat down heavily and crossed his arms over the back. "What is the big deal about this ruddy human holiday?"

"The big deal?" Orias' eyes shot wide. "You really don't know?"

"Wasn't exactly raised like any of you, now was I?"

"Okay, well." The mountain of a wizard shrugged, twirling the next in what would turn out to be a series of candy canes that would end up in his gullet between his fingers. "For some folks it's a religious time of year, what that means depends on the person. But, what it means for most people is you know, family, friends . . . celebrating the shit tha's good in life."

Fenrir's brows pinched together as he yelped a small, feral sound of confusion. "Why d'you need a special time of year for that?"

Orias shrugged, his expression thoughtful. "We don't, not really, but to be honest, humans are petty creatures. Never realized how much so until I wasn't one, anymore, but they are. They're so focused on what's wrong all the time, that they  _need_  to give themselvs permission to be happy about what's not wrong. They actually need to set aside days were it's okay to let the petty things go, and those days are sort of publicly acknowledged throughout most of the Wizarding world . . . Muggle world, too, the way our Little Witch would explain it."

Hermione smirked. Yeah, yeah, so they knew her pretty well, by now.

"And that's it?"

"No!"

She barely held back a laugh at the way Fenrir jumped. Orias' sudden, too-serious bellow was simply too out of place in such a quiet moment.

Orias held up the jar of quickly disappearing candy canes in way of elaboration. "There are sweets you can only get this time of year. And special feasts and treats, and presents!"

"Presents?"

Orias nodded, but on the other side of those doors, Hermione's heart sank. That's right. If he had never experienced the Holidays before, he'd also never received a Christmas present before. Though the two were nothing alike, the realization reminded her of Harry the year they'd first met. She hadn't been there for it, but she remembered Ron describing how shocked Harry was to receive presents for the first time in his life.

Even now she felt her throat tighten and her eyes swim at the memory of how hearing that information has made her feel.

"Yes. Gifts from friends, family, in all sort of brightly colored paper. And Santa Claus!"

"Bless you."

Hermione silently clamped a hand over her mouth to keep from laughing at Fenrir's dead-pan, entirely innocent response. Well, nice time to find out he'd been practicing interacting with humans, like she'd taught him. Things like saying  _bless you_  when someone sneezed were still new habits for him.

Orias' blue eyes had shot wide. "I didn't sneeze, I said  _Santa Claus_. As in Old Saint Nick. No? Nothing?" Running his hand—which made Hermione wince in that she could imagine how sticky his fingers were right now from all those poor, long-gone candy canes—through his long, dark-blond hair, Orias frowned. "Unbelievable."

"Where are you going?" Fenrir asked as he watched Orias stand from the table . . . notably with the half-full jar of sweets clutched in one hand.

Orias turned back to look at him. "It's where  _we're_  going. To the library to find you some books about Christmas, so Little Witch doesn't hate _me_  for letting you not learn about this time of year."

Blinking rapidly a few times as Fenrir grudgingly got to his feet, she tucked herself away in a corner. The two came through the doors the second she was securely hidden and stomped their way through the dining room.

Just as Fenrir disappeared outside, Orias halted. "Just a minute. You go, I'll catch up in a second."

"Fine. But I'm not looking for any damn books. This is your idea, you do it when you get up there."

Hermione folded her lips inward at how very much it sounded like the big, scary,  _savage_ werewolf was on the verge of a temper tantrum.

When Fenrir's footfalls sounded on the staircase, Orias spun to face into the room. One brow arched, he set the jar down on the table as he said, "All right, come out."

Her shoulders drooping, Hermione slipped out of the shadows. "How on earth did you know I was here when he didn't?"

"I'm used to peppermint. My senses account for the impediment of sweets, his don't. Want to tell me why you're hiding?"

The witch's nostril's flared as she nodded. "Wooh. That is strong. I'd thank you to stop eating the sweets, if you could?"

Orias smirked. "Make me. But you still haven't told me why you're hiding."

Biting her lips on a nervous grin, she crossed the floor to stand before him and held out the letter from the Medi-witch. As he took it, he—like Narcissa—read it over twice before he could react.

A smile lighting his face, he lifted his gaze from the words before him to meet her eyes. "Really? But . . . I don't understand. We're  _both_ —?"

She waved her hands about as she tried to explain. "It's not _entirely_  unheard of, but it's not that different from fraternal twins fathered by the same man. There  _is_  a window of time during which this, uh, can happen. Two different eggs fertilized by two different sperm within that window, and bam, two babies from two different fathers. God, it sounds like madness on the face of it. And, like she wrote right there, it's probably the lupine influence on our systems that made it easier for this to happen, and with how often we, um, get up to things. I mean, we all know there have been days when you've both, well, you  _know_  with me. So . . . ."

"Okay, I don't understand a lot of what you just said . . . ." He gave a side-to-side nod. "Mostly on account of that thing you do when you talk really fast and your words run together because you're so excited about something, but you're pregnant?"

Once more biting her lip, this time on a sound of excitement, she nodded.

"With twins?"

Again, she nodded. "Technically, yes."

"I'm going to be a father."

"Yes!"

She barely kept in a shriek as she found herself suddenly in the air and being spun around. "Okay, but this probably isn't good for the babies!"

"Oh, right! Sorry!" Setting her on her feet, Orias pulled her against him in a hug.

All right, so she knew it would be a while before anything like that could harm the babies, but still. Even not pregnant, she hadn't been especially fond of being tossed in the air.

She pulled back in his arms enough to look up at him. God, she hated that he was so pretty. All this time together and the effect his appearance had on her hadn't diminished. "Just, um, don't tell him, yet. Okay?"

Nodding, he kissed her. "Okay. You want to surprise him with the news?"

Hermione smiled. "Yeah. And given that this will be his first Christmas, I think I know exactly how to do it."

* * *

Fenrir looked up at the knock on the door. He wanted to be grumpy. Wanted to think the only reason he heard the sound over the noise of the party downstairs was because of his werewolf hearing.

"Come in."

The door opened and Hermione popped into the room. She looked like she was trying to compete with the ornaments on the tree, her lips a bright crimson and clad in a floofy party dress of the same shade that flounced about her curves when she moved. "Why aren't you downstairs?"

"Too noisy." He frowned, dropping his gaze back to where he was picking at the sofa cushion beside him. "Too many humans."

"Oh." Nodding, she closed the door behind her. "Well, um, that's okay, because I have a present for you, and it's something I wanted to give to you in private, anyway."

Returning his attention to her, he smirked. "Why do I feel like that's a trick?"

She shrugged as she crossed the floor to stand before him, one arm behind her back. "Not every present comes in some big, bright box."

He arched a brow as she held out a simple envelope to him. Plain, save for his name on it in a big, needlessly flashy style of writing, he took it.

Turning over the envelope, he opened it—delicately, but only because it was from her. Sliding a folded piece of parchment out, he carefully unfolded it.

Hermione watched as his jaws fell and his eyes widened. He looked up at her in a daze. "Really?"

She smiled, her hands clasped tight in front of her. "Happy Christmas."

His shoulders sloping, he set aside the letter and reached for her. Pulling her into his lap, he hugged her tight as he deposited quick, sweet kisses all over her face and neck. "I'm going to be a father!"

After a few moments, he paused, stilling against her.

Alarmed, Hermione cupped his jaw with her hands and lifted his head. "Fenrir?"

"I . . . ." His voice spilled out in an awed, barely audible whisper. "I'm going to have a family."

Again, she smiled, her touch gentle as she traced over his features with the tips of her fingers. "You already have a family. It's just getting a bit bigger, is all."

He stared at her in silence for several heartbeats. That was when she noticed the suspicious glimmer in his amber eyes.

"Fenrir? Are you crying?"

Sniffling as he shook his head, he said, "Of course not. But tell anyone and I'll wring your pretty little neck."

Unable to help a giggle, she curled herself against him, tucking her head under his chin. "After the babies are born."

He nodded as he tightened his hold on her. "After the babies are born."

Once more they sat in the quiet of the study, both listening to the raucous noise of the revelers downstairs.

"Hermione?" he said in a whisper, lifting a hand to stroke her hair.

"Yes, Fenrir?"

"I think I like Christmas."

**HAPPY HOLIDAYS, EVERYONE!**


	9. Hermione Granger and the Big Bloody Lynx

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Orias Mulciber goes conspicuously missing (because, really, when a man his size goes missing, how can't it be conspicuous?), Hermione searches for him. She can't understand what the big bloody lynx stalking her has to do with anything, but once she realizes the answer, her attempt to set things right only makes matters worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Blame my artist-friend snozzjam for this one. Totally a random little fun conversation we were having that somehow turned into "Hey, wouldn't it be funny to turn Orias into a Lynx, and then have Hermione not know it's him, but there's this big friggin' cat following her around, who—on the occasion when he gets close enough—gives her head boops and generally fwoomps on her as a giant cat would?" But, to save on running the risk of a whole new story that would only seem like a rewrite of The Wayward Familiar, this will only be a one-shot.
> 
> Ignore the sloppy, probably broken and wildly incorrect Latin of the spell.
> 
> * Orias Mulciber is my take on the canon character of Mulciber.
> 
> Fancast: Brock O'Hurn as Orias Mulciber.
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, or any affiliated characters, and make no profit, in any form, from this work.

  

**HERMIONE GRANGER AND THE BIG BLOODY LYNX**

Hermione frowned, looking about the deserted passage that had once been Knockturn Alley. Well, to be fair, it was  _still_  Knockturn Alley, but no one came here anymore since Voldemort had been ousted from power. No one except reformed Death Eaters in a moment of melancholic nostalgia.

Reformed Death Eaters like her fiancé, Orias Mulciber.

Typically, when he wasn't where he was supposed to be, she could find him milling forlornly about in front of the broken down shops. Oh, she was well aware his Dark magic days were behind him, but she was equally aware that not all of the memories of the time before they'd met had been unhappy ones.

But he was nowhere to be seen—and a man of his stature had to  _really_ try in order to not be seen.

Despite evidence to the contrary, she wasn't willing to give up on him being here, somewhere, quite yet before moving onto another location in search of him. Honestly, he was often late to meet her—as he was late pretty much everywhere—but now his tardiness was going on three hours.

And misplacing a mountain-sized wizard simply did not seem possible.

Sighing, she cast a look around as she started along the alley. This place had always been dark, twisted, and looming, and disuse had only warped those aspects. With a shake of her head, she peeked in the windows of the abandoned shops as she passed them.

No one, nothing. It seemed the only person lurking about Knockturn Alley this particular afternoon was  _her_.

After she'd traversed half the street, she paused. There was something . . . watching her, she could feel it.

Swallowing hard, Hermione pivoted slow, turning to scan the area. Still nothing. No one peered at her from around a bend, or watched from some shattered window pane. But then, movement caught her attention from the corner of her eye.

As she saw the massive feline staring back at her, she just barely kept herself from letting out a scream. Oh, dragons? Sure. Giant spiders? Okay. A lynx bigger than her? A perfectly normal-seeming creature like a lynx—stranger for how out of place it was here—of that size? Nope,  _that_ was not working for her, at all.

It started toward her and her reflexives kicked in. Nearly before she even realized she'd moved, she had her wand drawn on it.

Though instinct told her how stupid that was—the sudden movement could've provoked the beast into attacking—the observation that followed seemed even stupider. The cat stopped at the sight of her wand. No, didn't just stop, it seemed to backpedal half a step. Like it knew what the piece of wood was capable of.

Could it be that this was someone's familiar?

Forcing a gulp down her throat, she nodded. "Okay, maybe you escaped from the Magical Menagerie?"

Even untrained familiars understood witches and wizards when they spoke, so perhaps it wasn't unreasonable that the beast appeared to comprehend her. Yet, to her surprise, its response was to give a shake of its almost too-large head.

Sitting on its hunches, the creature let loose a snuffling breath. As though it was mildly disgruntled about something.

Her shoulders slumped as she lowered her wand. "Wha' have you got to be pissy about? I'm the one got the shit scared out of me."

Again, it snuffled.

"All right, _nearly_  scared out of me, better?"

Just as the lynx nodded—it  _nodded_  at her—she held up her hands in disbelief. "I'm _not_ having this conversation with a cat."

Said  _cat_ blew a puff of air out of one side of its mouth and stood, coming closer to her.

Still uncertain what to expect, Hermione held herself immobilized. Dear God, it  _was_  as tall as her. Though it didn't seem dangerous, she jumped when the animal made a sudden movement. That movement was to bump its head against hers . . . . An adorable sign of affection from any normal-sized cat, but from this massive beast, the gesture knocked her off balance and she hit the ground hard on her bum.

She didn't have time to feel dazed as she suddenly found the lynx on top of her, its huge paws hugging her shoulders as it nuzzled her face and neck.

This close—its fur right in front of her eyes—she couldn't help noting that its coat was darker than the lynxes she'd seen at the zoo. It was a deep, dark golden-blond. Just like . . . .

Gripping the creatures cheeks with her hands, she pulled his head back enough to meet its gaze.  _"No . . ."_  she whispered, before asking in a louder voice, "Orias?"

As though in confirmation, he barreled into her, knocking her full onto the ground. "What are you doing? Are you an Animagus and you never told me?"

Orias backed off of her and shook his head.

Sitting up, she propped her hands on her hips. "Okay, I'm going to need you to stop knocking me over for a moment."

With another exasperated breath, he sat on his hunches once more.

"What happ—?" Remembering as she started to ask the question that he couldn't very well answer normally, she shook her head. "Did someone do this to you?"

He shook his head.

"Was it a charm or some sort of enchantment you tripped or something?"

The feline features actually twisted in what she guessed was a bashful expression as he glanced away.

Understanding that he wasn't embarrassed because he'd tripped anything, but because he was still responsible for his state, she groaned. "Oh my God. You did this to yourself didn't you? You were messing with something in one of these shops, and you cast a spell wrong. That's it, isn't it."

Orias whipped his head forward to give her an irritated glare.

"Don't give me that look. How well I know you is the reason you want to marry me."

At that, she could swear the lynx arched a brow.

"Oh, shut up." Climbing to her feet, she dusted herself off. "Now, take me to where you left that spell. I'll see if we can't reverse it."

Though a doubtful expression flickered in his eyes, Orias stood and turned, trotting off down the alleyway.

* * *

Clearing her throat, Hermione held up her wand, once more reading the incantation from the book open before her to herself before she spoke it aloud. " _Animum vertere terga bestia agitare lyncas_."

Orias jumped back from the puff of smoke that engulfed Hermione. As it faded, his shoulder blades shifted downward. He was still a bloody lynx.

And sitting in the midst of the smoke as it cleared . . . .

_Oh, dear Lord. What's this now?_  The comparatively tiny lynx staring back at him let out an unhappy mewling sound.  _Why didn't it work?_

He tipped his head to one side as he exhaled.  _I suspect for the same reason it didn't work for me. Always liked lynxes, was trying to lure one as a familiar, and somehow—_

_Somehow became your own familiar. Well, magic does have a sense of humor, doesn't it?_ She made another mewling-whine sound.  _How is it we can understand each other?_

Orias let out a snuffling breath that sounded strangely like a chuckle.  _Fucked if I know. Don't cats give off pheromones and use body language, shit like that?_

_Yeah._

He strolled up to her, nuzzling his cheek against hers before he answered.  _Then that's probably it, right? We're picking up on each other's signals, and our minds are translating it something we understand._

Letting out a snickering breath, she butted her head against his.  _You've been spending too much time around me._

His mouth pulled to one side.  _I'll pretend you didn't just insinuate I wasn't always this smart._   _There's obviously something wrong with this spell. Could it be cursed?_

_Possibly. I know how to handle this._ Pinching the book between her teeth, she started out the broken down shop's open door.  _C'mon._

_Where are we going?_

_Hogwarts. If anyone can set this to rights, it's Professor McGonagall._  She didn't even have to glance back at him to know where his attention was—even stuck in a bloody animal form! But then his utter shamelessness and irreverence were two of the things she loved about him.  _And quit watching my hind quarters!_

Orias once more let out one of those snuffling breaths that sounded like a chuckle as he trotted along behind her.  _What I do with your hind quarters is one of the reasons you want to marry me._

Halting, she looked back at him, the book clenched firmly between her teeth. After a moment, she sighed around the spine.  _Well, if you're going to tell the truth so blatantly, I can't exactly argue, now can I?_

Again, he chuckled, falling quiet as he followed his fiancé. Finding their way back to Hogwarts like this might take a while. Who knew what they'd have to do to pass the time?

**THE END**


End file.
